Alive Out of Habit
by tek
Summary: Post-RE5. The cost of sanity is a high price to pay.
1. Fracture

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter One: Fracture**

Jill awoke to the sound of cards shuffling in a deck and the patter of a hand being dealt to the occupants at a large dining room table that was worse for wear. Her eyes adjusted slowly to darkness of her surroundings. She could see a dim light shining over the couch she had fallen asleep on, presumably coming from the adjacent room where the card game was continuing from earlier.

The spells of sleep would come and go. The BSAA medics had said she was experiencing a detox; an obvious reaction to the lack of drugs that had been pumped into her system consistently for two years. The thought made the grime appear on her skin again, and she felt the urge to lock herself in the bathroom and scald her skin for the third time that day.

Chris's voice fluttered over the card game, and she realized suddenly that he was coming to check on her. It was a routine he had obsessively gotten into the habit of since she had been released from the on-base hospital in Africa and they had flown back to America, under the orders of hiding until the Kijuju situation was under control.

"_It's nice to finally get a paycheck for being on the run." _

Chris had grumbled his sentiments several times over the last three weeks as he shuffled Jill from safe house to safe house. This was all fine by Jill as anything was a reprieve from a jail cell that Wesker could enter at any moment, except for the hardships it placed when it came to professional medical care. She had experienced a few episodes; harsh flashbacks that put her in a temporary psychosis of extreme paranoia and fear. The look on Chris's face each time she woke up with that guttural scream in her throat would forever be imprinted into her memory. It spoke of desperation and fear, and a reluctance to accept that he wasn't equipped to handle her recovery alone.

Adjusting to a normal life was proving impossible. Jill had been a prisoner for far too long to simply slip back through the cracks and pick up where she had left off. Prior to Chris finding her, the last moments Jill had spent leading her former life involved throwing herself out a window as a last ditch effort to save her lover from a villain whose grip had ceased to falter over the last decade of their lives.

"I didn't know you were awake," Chris's voice startled her from her thoughts, and she realized she had been standing in the doorway for quite some time, watching the shadows of the other inhabitants of the safe house.

"I didn't realize I was either," Jill mumbled, increasing the space between herself and the man in front of her. Physical contact was completely out of bounds. A nervous twisting and aching weighed on her stomach whenever she sensed affection radiating from Chris. It was obvious her "death" had wreaked havoc on many lives, but it had completely buried the man she knew before. He was a hulking mass now - not that he hadn't been fit already, but it was obvious he had taken his grief out in a physical way. She had yet to see him crack a smile, and she wondered if she would even notice if he did. She wasn't smiling much these days either.

"Do you want to join the card game?"

"No."

The idea of sitting in a room with everyone as they traded "war" stories and jokes made her nauseous. She couldn't stand to be around anyone - especially larger groups of people - for longer than a few minutes at a time. It was an anxiety caused by the fact that she felt like every wrong she had committed in the last two years was carved into her skin. The eyes that watched her curiously were reading the confessions and the longer she stayed, the more her secrets were brought to life. She was thankful the only person other than Chris and the BSAA guards that was afforded access to the safe house was Leon (due to his extensive involvement in the government), because she did not think she could stand to see more familiar faces in her current state. Claire, Barry, Rebecca, and everyone else who had (un)intentionally made enemies with Umbrella had been ushered into different safe houses under Chris's insistence that retaliation was probably imminent.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

She hesitated. He was still in love with her, still trying to be the hero he had always been, but she didn't know who she was anymore. The feelings were still there - the vividness of their relationship prior to her death - but her body had holed that part of her life off in the time spent under Wesker's lead, and she couldn't seem to undo the safeguard.

"It's okay, Jill. Just go to sleep. If you need anything, I'll be right in there," he took a step closer out of old habit and she could smell the beer on his breath. The familiar heavy lager awakened many memories, and for a moment his presence was appreciated, but the man in black appeared all too soon. She stumbled backward, bracing her hand against the wall for support.

"Okay," it was all she could muster as she watched him leave the room. She could see in the darkness how his shoulders slumped; how he didn't walk with the same swagger she remembered him having. He was a broken man and she was doing nothing to aid him in his healing.

"Fuckin' mosquitoes," Chris mumbled under his breath as he lit his second cigarette of the night.

"Is she alright?"

Chris glanced up at Leon. He had nothing against the guy - Leon had proved himself worthy on several occasions in the past five years - but he just didn't know when to shut the fuck up. Claire had warned him of his prying personality years earlier. _"He means well, Chris, he just doesn't really understand how you and I cope with things."_

He decided to bite back the impulse to be rude. "I don't know. She won't really talk to me. She's said five fuckin' words since I brought her back," he inhaled the nicotine, relishing its calming effects.

"Didn't Claire tell you to lay off that shit?"

"I did. I quit eight years ago, but something made me pick up the habit again. I guess finding out your girlfriend's still alive and under the control of a sociopath will do that to a guy."

"Nice," Leon mumbled, unenthused by the sarcasm.

Chris shrugged in response, leaning against the wooden railing of the porch he and Leon stood on. He had tried to be civil, but Leon's inquisitive nature had overstepped the boundaries Chris meant to be in place. He understood Kennedy was a government agent, knew it was his job to probe, but all he wanted was to relish his cigarettes in peace.

"She's got another evaluation coming up."

The statement was thick, and it hung in the air with the fog of smoke surrounding Chris.

"It's to decide whether or not they're going to commit her for a mandatory period."

Chris suffocated the tip of his cigarette against the wooden railing, flicking it into the grass. He leaned against the structure, the aging wood creaking under his weight.

"She has nightmares. She wakes up paranoid…totally distraught. I guess she's remembering things she didn't really have time to process while she was drugged. She thinks I don't know what happens, but she screams in her sleep. She begs for him to get off of her and cries out for me, but I guess I never come," Chris admitted, his voice cracking under the severity of the statement. He cleared his throat to cover it, and nervously raked his hands through his disheveled hair. "Even in her dreams, I can't save her."

"The psychologist said her brain was remembering everything she has repressed since her capture, and there's no way to identify triggers she may experience. You don't save her because you _didn't _save her. She was under Wesker's control for two years, Chris. Anyone would be seriously reeling from that. She's lucky to even be alive. I don't think - "

"You don't think what, Leon? That I can _handle _her on my own? You think I don't fucking know that?" His voice was rising, and Leon realized this was probably going to get uglier than he intended.

"Everything okay out here, guys?" The men were startled by the voice of one of the BSAA security guards. His name was Kevin or Kyle, Leon couldn't exactly remember.

"Peachy," Chris mumbled.

The guard gave an unsatisfied look toward both Chris and Leon, before shutting the door to the house once more.

"I'm just saying, if this evaluation requires that she needs help beyond what she is already receiving, maybe it's not such a bad thing," Leon reasoned. It was a shoddy attempt to calm Chris down, and both men knew it.

"I feel like you know something, Kennedy. Like one of those higher ups has told you they're going to put her away until she sees rainbows and butterflies in those ink blots," Chris challenged.

"I don't know any more than you do. The BSAA doesn't divulge information to me like the government. I'm not their agent, so they don't have any loyalty to me."

Chris sighed. He was agitated, mostly at himself for not being able to do anything about the situation at hand. The BSAA had valid concerns for why they wanted to admit Jill to one of their facilities specializing in trauma sustained while in battle. Chris didn't think the BSAA actually knew the severity of the trauma that was associated with Albert Wesker.

"I don't feel like she needs to be put away. We just pulled her out of confinement…only to put her back in? Regardless of what she's going through, that's still my Jill."

"Fair enough." It was the only response Leon could give, for he had nothing else to offer.

The reality of the dilemma surrounding Jill had been building for weeks. She had woken up in a state of extreme paranoia on more than a couple of occasions, scaring everyone around her. As much as Chris had refused to let on, Leon had seen the fear in his eyes when he couldn't shake her from her delusions. The medics had said it could be a side-effect from the P30 serum, but no final answer could be given as the results of Jill's blood tests and cultures had not come back yet. Until any semblance of answers could be found, they were on their own.

It was tiring, hearing Chris and Leon have the same conversation over and over. Where she should have felt some sort of emotion toward the prospects of her being admitted into a medical facility, she felt the same void that existed whenever she tried to create any sort of emotion for herself.

She had never believed in the saying "better off dead" until she had met Albert Wesker and unveiled the truth in her position as a S.T.A.R.S. member - glorified lab rat.

Jill pulled the door to her bedroom closed, ensuring that she made as little noise as possible. The BSAA guards were trained to react to any movement, especially those coming from her. Regardless of if she was put away so to speak, she was still on lockdown within the confines of the safe house. Her outbursts and her failure to even try to socialize were casting a dim light on her chances for improvement.

_Knock. Knock. _

She knew it was Chris. He was the only one who dared try to speak with her.

"Yeah."

Chris entered, eyes meeting hers before he was even in the room. "Should I set a plate for you, or are you just going to starve yourself?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Jill, you have to eat."

She narrowed her eyes at him, exasperated with what he expected of her. "I feel nauseous just thinking about food, Chris. I don't want to eat."

He nodded, propping himself against the door. She cautiously watched him from the corner of her eye, and she could tell her was looking at her in the dim light cast from the outside hallway. Her time spent with Wesker had undeniably toned her already fit body - she was after all intended to be his perfect weapon - but the last few weeks of detox had forfeited her exercise routine and caused to her to become skin and bones. As a result of this, Jill avoided mirrors and lights as much as possible.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. It came out of nowhere, just an automatic response to what she knew Chris was thinking.

"Yeah. I am too, because if I can't pull you together, they're going to send you to someone who thinks they can," he looked at her expectantly, as if he was awaiting a nervous breakdown.

Emotions did not touch Jill anymore though, and she merely affirmed his statement. "I know."

"That's it? You're just giving up?"

"I don't think I ever started anything, Chris, so I don't know what there is to give up."

He moved forward suddenly, shutting the door behind him, and she could tell from how calculated his movements were that he was refraining from tearing the door from its hinges. The idea of violence made her stomach turn with the weight of memories of Wesker, and before Chris could come any closer, she sprinted toward the bathroom, emptying the bile into the toilet.

Chris rushed after her, his hand automatically going to her back, which sent Jill reeling again. When she finally was able to get a handle on herself, she shrank away from his touch, positioning herself so that the toilet was in between them and shielding her face from the light that was suddenly on.

"You need to eat. You're going to dehydrate."

"I think that's the least of my worries."

Chris sighed in response. He had no idea how to deal with side of Jill. He had known going into Africa that the chances of her being alive were slim to none, and the chances of her being the same were even less. This version of Jill was something entirely different; something not to be reckoned with. She was neither callous or cold, but rather entirely indifferent. He would rather her be vicious than entirely incapable of expressing/feeling any sort of sentiment toward anyone, herself included. Emotion, negative or not, bred humanity.

"I've heard you and Leon talking, Chris. I'm not an idiot."

Her words jarred him from his thoughts. The subject came so suddenly that he didn't have time to prepare a response.

"I know you're not an idiot. That's why I need you to cooperate during your next evaluation. You can't just sit there in silence proclaiming you're fine. Psychiatrists are paid to call bullshit."

"Since when are you a friend of Freud?" She was referring to his prior experiences with shrinks - doctors who classified them as mentally incapable of working, thus nullifying their recounts of the Spencer Estate incident and catapulting the events that followed.

"Jill, the BSAA was developed in response to everything we have worked for. This isn't S.T.A.R.S. and this isn't a shrink paid by Irons to call us all psychos," he reasoned softly. The allusion to the beginning brought back more than he cared to think about at the moment. He had to focus on one tragedy at a time or it would become too much to bear.

Jill pushed herself to her feet, the idea of sitting on the floor suddenly making her feel weak and inferior in front of Chris. "Does Leon know something we don't?"

"I don't think so. He's only pointing out what's obvious."

She felt the force of his statement, probably more harshly than he intended, but he was right. Jill wasn't making a strong case for herself when it came to her stability, and the bigger problem was that she couldn't care any less. If they wanted to admit her into a psych ward and poke and prod her brain for its troubles, then so be it.

"_Been there, done that."_

It was a dark thought, one she didn't dare voice aloud out of common sense.

"Jill?"

She was shaken back into reality at the tone of Chris's voice, indicating he had been talking to her for quite some time without a response.

"I'm fine. I just want to take a shower and go back to sleep."

Chris begrudgingly took this as his cue to leave, and he shut the door behind him. She heard his heavy footsteps as he made his way from the bedroom and into the hallway before slamming shut the door. The frames on the walls rattled as did Jill's bones at the noise.

"Get a fucking grip," she growled at herself as she caught her reflection in the side mirror. She looked like she had died and the life that was revived suddenly in her was slipping away quickly. Her skin was white as a sheet, with her hair not fairing much better. The time spent in Wesker's chamber had traded pigment for healing. She had been horrified at first, screaming when she had awakened to her new appearance. Then the P30 had started, and she had no time to process her looks. If anything, not looking like Jill Valentine had helped her cope with what she had done while under Wesker's control.

_Wesker_.

The name alone made her skin crawl and her body ache. The worst part of the P30 wearing off were the memories that were slowly creeping their way into her brain; each one making it evident that she was no longer a victim, but rather a murderer in a hero's disguise.

**Author's Note: I'm not sure where this story is going exactly. I have some ideas in my head for where I want it to go, but nothing concrete. I've had this idea spinning around in my head since Resident Evil 5 was released, and I felt like I had to at least try to do something with it. It's going to be a little darker than what I've previously written, and hopefully better. I've been gone for a while so I hope I'm not too rusty at this. Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	2. Memoria

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Two: Memoria**

_Sweat clung to her skin despite the chill in the room. The floors were white, the ceiling white, the walls white. Sterile. _

_Jill sat up, screaming as she felt the immediate burn in her chest. She looked down, her blurry vision focusing in on a glowing blob below her clavicle. _

"_Ms. Valentine, you really shouldn't move so much."_

"_What the fuck have you done to me?" Her voice was weak, betraying the intensity she meant to be behind the question._

_His fist was more than unexpected; the aroma of the leather of his glove a sharp contrast from the clean smell of the room._

"_Did you feel that?"_

_It hadn't even occurred to her that his punch should have hurt - it should have shattered her face. Her eyes widened._

"_I didn't think so."_

_It was a full thirty seconds before Jill realized the scream piercing her ears was her own._

Chris entered the safe house, with two BSAA guards following closely behind him. He awakened that morning to restless legs, and had asked for permission to go out for a jog around the grounds. Three of the guards had rejected his request, while the other two had agreed to join him. He imagined the two who had agreed to accompany him were feeling the effects of isolation as well.

The safe house was small, causing sleeping arrangements to be difficult. While there were three bedrooms, the BSAA had assigned these rooms to those they were protecting, and had basically told the guards to figure out where they would crash during their off shifts, but since only two guards were to be awake at all times, that left three men to fight it out over two couches and a recliner.

But the land the house was built upon took nothing for granted. The agency said it was originally a farm house, but that the barns and stables had been torn down in the midst of a plan to build on the land commercially. The economy had caused the initial buyers to forfeit the land, and the agency had decided to buy it from them to use as a safe house.

"If your shift is ending, one of you can use my bed. I don't mind. I don't think I'll be going back to sleep," Chris said over his shoulder as he entered the kitchen to get a bottle of water.

"Thank you, Captain Redfield."

"Yeah."

He looked up to see one of the guards holding a plastic bag filled with ice to his face. Before Chris could even ask, the guard put his hands up.

"Valentine woke up and got into the shower. She was in there for over forty-five minutes, so Jameson and I went into her room and knocked on the bathroom door to check on her. She didn't answer so I opened the door thinking maybe she was having one of her episodes or something had happened, y'know? Next thing I know, she's poundin' me in the face and screaming bloody murder!"

Chris shouldered passed the guard, storming toward Jill's room and ignoring the calls from the guard. He hesitated before he tried entering. The locks on the doors had been removed to allow easy access to Jill's room, but he didn't want to invade her privacy. He had no idea if barging in on her would only trigger another episode.

_Knock. Knock._

"Come in," Leon's voice resounded from behind the wooden door, making Chris's blood boil.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing, Chris. Everything is fine, I just freaked out when the guard came in the bathroom with me. Tell him I'm sorry."

He couldn't care less about the guard's injuries.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm peachy," Jill mumbled.

Leon sat awkwardly in a chair on the opposite end of Jill's bed, watching the exchange between Chris and Jill. He could feel Chris's eyes staring daggers in him and how uncomfortable his presence made him.

"I'm going to grab some breakfast. You guys want anything?" He took their silence as his cue to make a prompt exit.

When Leon had left the room, Chris folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. Closing his eyes and counting to ten was not his forte, but he knew his overwhelming anxiety that came off under the guise of an overprotective father was not going to get through to Jill.

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad, Jill," he replied softly. "I'm just worried."

"I didn't mean to freak out on the guard, okay? Maybe that wouldn't happen if I fucking had locks on my doors so people couldn't just come in here whenever they want to. I deserve some privacy and I deserve to feel…"

"…to feel what?"

Jill sighed, shaking her head and pressing her hands into her eyes. She could feel the burn of tears that had yet to be shed.

"Safe."

It was only a whisper, but Chris heard it loud and clear.

"You _are _safe - you're as safe as you're going to get where you are right now."

"You don't understand," she pulled her knees up to her chest, and he watched as the baggy t-shirt she wore slipped down, revealing the stitches on her chest. "That man's nose is broken. Regardless of what he says, it's broken. He needs to go to the hospital. I know it's broken, because I felt it snap against my knuckles, Chris. Because all it takes is a fucking millisecond for me to react to anything."

"Good to see you're feeling so confident in yourself."

"This isn't a joke, stop taking it like one. I'm dangerous - to you, to them, to myself."

Chris was silent. He knew it was the truth, had felt her blows mere weeks ago as Sheva helped him wrestle the device from her chest. His bruises had yet to fade; the blood vessels she had popped in his neck were still an angry color against his sun-kissed skin.

"We'll see."

Jill sighed, feeling the weight of efforts wasted.

Leon sat in the kitchen reading over the paper and gnawing on pieces of beef jerky as he waited on his pot of coffee to finish. It was comical, really, the sense of normalcy that seemed to creep up over the weeks they had spent holed away in isolation. He chuckled to himself as he read over the comics.

"Shouldn't you be reading the actual news, Kennedy? Or is our government as big of a joke as I think it is?"

"You tell me, Captain Redfield," Leon watched as he managed to elicit a begrudging smile from the notoriously brooding face. It was a failsafe; they could resort to insulting each other over their respective roles in the government whenever things became uncomfortable. How long this would work, Leon had no idea, but he figured until Chris knew exactly how close he had become with his little sister, it would suffice.

"I guess I should thank you for being there for Jill this morning."

"It would be a nice alternative to pounding my face in, which is what you looked like you were two seconds away from doing earlier."

Chris let out a low whistle. "Boy, someone paid attention to the body language portion of interrogation training."

"_Ha_."

"I just don't understand. I walk in the room and she turns into a ball of nerves, but you were sitting in there like it was nothing."

"I heard all the commotion and when the guards told me what happened, I figured it was better someone she at least kind of knew checked on her than risk one of the other guards getting the shit kicked out of them. She didn't say two words to me, Chris," Leon explained, watching as Chris's facial expression faltered. "That doesn't look like it was the answer you were hoping for."

"It wasn't," Chris replied, taking a seat at the opposite end of the kitchen table. "I was hoping maybe she had talked a little. I feel like maybe I put too much pressure on her."

"Maybe you do, but honestly, Chris, I think it's the fact she's locked up in here with a bunch of men. You heard the medical evaluation, and whether she's going to tell you or not, those doctors wrote it all up in that fancy little report before you asked them to fax it to Rebecca," Leon knew the topic he was referring to had him treading on less than thin ice, but it was something that needed to be addressed.

"I don't want to fuckin' think about that, Kennedy."

"And I'm sure she doesn't either, but that doesn't mean you can just ignore it and sweep it under the rug, and it'll all just go away for her, too."

"Are you saying I shouldn't be around her?" Chris challenged.

"What I'm saying is that Jill went through more than just psychological trauma and because of the relationship you had with her, maybe it does trigger something for her that makes her uncomfortable."

Chris sighed, his fists clenching as he leaned his torso against the counter. He had seen the reports, despite the patient-doctor confidentiality clause that was supposed to be in place. He had threatened the life of the doctor who had performed the initial evaluation, causing his own psych evaluation to be more thorough than usual. The report stated clearly that Jill had demanded a pregnancy test be performed, which could only mean one thing.

"I would like to talk to talk to my brother."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Agent Kennedy is the only one authorized to give you permission for that."

"Then I would like to speak to Agent Kennedy."

The guard raised his eyebrows, and shook his head. He went through this same routine with the girl every day. She would get her phone call, only to be given the run-around by BSAA officials who were monitoring the phone calls being made between the safe houses. Every day, she swore at the authorities on the phone, left the kitchen where the only phone in the small apartment was, and slammed the door to her designated bedroom.

"Ms. Redfield, I don't understand why you continue to do this. When it's safe, they'll let us know and you'll get your phone call."

She glared pointedly at the guard, and he frowned before stepping aside to allow her access to the phone.

"Claire Redfield….I need to speak to Agent Leon Kennedy…what do you mean he isn't available? It's not like he can fucking go anywhere, you guys have us locked up like prisoners…no, I will not hold while you put me on the phone with another idiot who is going to deny me my rights. I want to talk to my brother now put me through to Agent Kennedy so I can do that - hey! What do you think you're doing?" Claire scowled in shock at the BSAA guard who had snatched the phone from her hands and placed it back on its receiver, effectively ending the call in place.

"I'm doing you a favor. You're stuck here with me and Roberts for who knows how long and this same routine is going to drive us all insane. You're not going to get through to them."

Claire huffed in response, and folded her arms across her chest. She was tired of being confined to the same apartment with the same guards, unable to speak to her brother. It had been three months since she'd been informed by the BSAA of his mission to Africa. While she had never been on board with Chris leaving, she kept her worries to herself. The evolution of the BSAA was only thing keeping Chris alive since Jill's death. Her face darkened, as she thought of the turmoil her brother had endured over the last two years.

"_Chris, this place fucking smells. Get it together," she growled, hauling the half-full trash bag behind her as she swiped empty bottles and cans off the table. _

_No response, but a blank stare from the couch._

"_Jill would not want you to live like this."_

_His skin was a sickly white, a stark contrast from the dark circles around his eyes. He hadn't shaved in weeks; a full beard almost framed his face, which was becoming gaunt from his lack of sleep. His body was noticeably smaller as he had spent the last five months with little to no physical activity. The BSAA had given him a six month grievance leave, but Claire suspected that her brother would be in no shape to return in a month's time given his diet of alcohol and sleeping pills._

"_Well, I guess we'll never know what Jill would have wanted, will we?"_

_Ring. Ring._

Chris tensed up from his place on the couch, startled by the noise. He realized it was the telephone when he heard Leon's voice travel into the room. The phone scarcely rang, and usually when it did, it was just an operator from BSAA's telecommunications division testing the line to make sure no one was dead.

"_How nice_ _of them," _Chris had muttered the first time the call came through. He was disappointed that it wasn't his sister, or Rebecca calling to give him her assessment of Jill's medical evaluations.

He should have known as soon as he requested a blackout from the BSAA for protection that there would be no casual phone calls allowed.

"Chris!" Leon's call traveled throughout the rooms of the house, echoing in the silence as it reached Chris's ears. He stood up, curiously jogging toward the singular phone in the house.

"It's Stevens. They're patching him through, he says he's got an update."

"I'll try to contain my excitement."

The routine updates came through once every few days. It was the head of surveillance letting them know whether there was a bounty out on their heads yet.

"Captain Redfield! Glad to hear everything is fine there. I just wanted to let you know, the other units are safe as of now. You'll be hearing from me again in a few days."

"Great."

"Also, there will be another phone call coming in from Ms. Chambers today. We're only allowing two minutes maximum, so be sure you get to the point."

Chris's jaw went slightly slack. "Uh…uh sure. Thanks."

Leon arched an eyebrow, curious as to what could be throwing Chris Redfield off from his normally stoic attitude.

"Rebecca's calling today. I guess she's done with her assessments."

"Well, that's good. The BSAA can get a grip on what exactly was going on with her lab results. Maybe it can better explain her behavior and we can solve this," Leon noticed Chris's expression darkening.

"Rebecca doesn't know that the file she's looking at is Jill's. She never did. I asked for the name to be protected in case someone got to her. No one knows Jill is alive."

_Every punch the man threw was predicted before his muscles could even carry out the action. She deflected them with ease, grabbing him by the forearm as she flipped him over and onto his back, her boot making contact with his throat._

_He gasped for air, pleading without words for her to spare him._

_But Wesker showed no mercy, and neither did she._

_She summoned the strength in her leg, and felt his bones cracking beneath the sole of her leather boot. His windpipe was crushed. Game over._

"_Very effective, Ms. Valentine," his praise was monotone. Even the quickest of kills didn't seem to satisfy him, no matter how vicious or routine they were._

_She watched as he kneeled to the ground, retrieving a disk from the dead man's jacket. _

"_What is that?"_

_Her curiosity didn't surprise him. She was starting to ask more questions as time wore on; it was a side effect of becoming used to her intermittent dosages. He decided responding would be a pleasantry and remained silent, checking his Rolex to verify when her next injection would be. She was due for another increase in a few days, and her complacent obedience would return, silence and all. _

_She followed him through the dark streets bordering the African compound and into his military standard vehicle, courtesy of Tricell. As he drove, she watched the decay that had begun to suffocate the life out of the city, like an infected wound that was only worsening. Another of Wesker's masterpieces._

_Excella's voice came through the vehicle's communications system, and Wesker responded with their ETA before turning the volume knob to zero. _

_Jill placed her hand on his knee, and eased herself back into leather of the seat, as if they were moments from home._

Rebecca leaned back into her computer chair, wiping the weariness from her eyes as she struggled to concentrate on the results in front of her. Her body was aching from the weeks spent doing nothing in isolation, and now that she had been released during the day to work at one of the BSAA labs, she still sat in the same position, pouring over the same paperwork.

She hadn't initially wanted to join the ranks of the BSAA. She had selfishly wanted to forget any involvement she had experienced with bioterrorism and sought out a job at a local hospital, keeping in irregular contact with her former teammates as they pursued a war she was too weak to wage. It wasn't until the fifth time that Chris had contacted her about an offer for the head of a virology branch in the BSAA main headquarters, she had begun to reconsider her place.

And then her former teammates had received a lead on Wesker's whereabouts, and everything had changed.

The moment she saw Chris at Jill's funeral, Rebecca had decided she refused to put herself in the position of losing another person she loved. If Chris Redfield had no fight left in him, then she, too, wanted to wash her hands clean of Umbrella and all of its clones.

She did the only logical thing she could do - sought a job at the CDC, where she spent two years doing the same job Chris had pleaded with her to take, for an organization who hired her not based on her merits, but rather on her affiliation with the media as a "Raccoon City Survivor."

"_Rebecca…it's me, Claire. Listen, I don't even know if this is the right number to reach you at…Leon got it for me using his secret service connections or whatever bullshit he likes to flaunt. Anyway, Chris is back from Africa and he's demanding blackout. No one will tell me what's going on but Leon told me your name is on the list and I just wanted to give you a heads up."_

_The voicemail was a ripple in her newly formed life. She had no idea what "blackout" even meant, until she had entered her apartment to find three BSAA agents standing guard in her living room, ordering her to pack bags her bags within the next half hour and leave the number of anyone she would like them to contact about her indefinite absence._

"_Indefinite absence? What the hell are you even talking about? I have a job! Things I'm working on! You can't just force me to leave!" _

_Her pleas went unheard, as the men told her firmly that her life was in danger and it was under the request of Captain Christopher Redfield that she be placed under the care of the BSAA, validating the voicemail that had been left hours earlier by his sister. _

"_What does blackout mean?" Rebecca had finally relented, beginning to rack her brain for what to pack when your return was indefinite._

"_It means you're going to be placed into one of our BSAA-regulated safe houses. It's like the witness protection program, but without privileges. You'll be isolated from the threat you're facing until the agency deems that you are safe." A textbook definition that left most of her questions unanswered._

"_Am I going to get to see Chris - Captain Redfield?" She felt silly correcting herself. She had known "Captain Redfield" for years, but she felt the need to address him by his title._

"_Are you familiar with the phrase "two birds with one stone," Ms. Chambers?"_

"…_yes."_

"_We don't like to keep everyone facing the same threat in one place."_

_The response was enough to make her sick at the familiar feeling of worry and danger._

Her eyes caught the time displayed at the corner of the screen of her laptop. It was time.

She dialed the number from her office phone and entered in her extension. She was transferred through four different password prompts before she reached the live operator. She gave her name, and her BSAA-issued number, and was then placed on hold while the authorization was verified on her end, and was again transferred for authorization on Chris's end.

"Hello?"

His voice was the same as she'd remembered it, and it triggered a landslide of memories. He may as well have answered with "You've reached the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S., Officer Redfield speaking."

"Chris…" she had no idea what else to say.

"Rebecca, it's so good to hear from you," Chris let the line fall silent, thanking the universe that the innocent girl he remembered didn't sound as broken as she had two years ago. "Listen…they only gave us a two minute cap, so whatever you've found out…I need you to give it to me quick."

And suddenly she was compelled to do just that, as if he were a boss and she was eager to please him. But he was more than that; he was someone who had saved her life and had saved others important to her. He had managed to stifle his demons for the greater good, and she wanted to do the same for him.

"I've been studying the P30 and comparing it to samples of the T-Virus, G-Virus, Code Veronica, Las Plagas, and Uroboros. So far, there's no real trend other than the advancement of the virus. The P30 is different; it doesn't attack the same cells. It works to enhance the body's motor and cognitive skills, as well as regenerate the immune system. It's what the T-Virus was trying to perfect, Chris. Wesker figured it out."

"Do you think it's what he was infected with?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm guessing it was a certain form of it. You said he had to take continuous injections of it and whoever this survivor is that you rescued…she was getting a pretty high dosage," Rebecca replied, glancing over her notes and trying to formulate what else Chris needed to know.

"Is it reversible?" Chris's question was borderline frantic, which piqued her interest in the subject.

"I can't be sure of that without actually examining the person in question, Chris. There are a lot more tests that need to be done. I need to be able to take more samples to compare since she's been detoxing from the chemical," his silence was unnerving. "But the last updates I was given showed a decrease in the levels of cortisol and other hormones that had been effected - she's not contagious, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm asking if she's going to be able to survive once this shit is out of her system; if she'll be able to live a normal life again," his tone had grown softer; true worry now broke the surface.

"Chris, I don't know. I need access to her…to be able to monitor her. It would all be so much easier," she pressed, hoping that he would give her a sign that this isolation would be over soon.

"Was everything else normal? The report said she demanded a pregnancy test."

"She was being pumped full of fertility drugs. I'm assuming she was meant to breed, but I'm unsure of what - "

The dial tone pierced through his ears like a bullet hitting its target.

**Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to get out. As I said before, I'm still unsure of where this is going. I wanted this chapter to introduce the other characters, as well as fill in gaps for the two years since Jill's death. There will be a lot more of those as the story progresses. I appreciate all the reviews and constructive criticism. I tried to respond to who I could. I hope this didn't disappoint! Thank you so much for reading and please review!**


	3. Cry, Cry, Cry

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Three: Cry, Cry, Cry**

_Jill winced, biting her lip from the pain of Wesker's punch. Although the routine injections of P30 had made her tolerance for pain skyrocket, Wesker seemed to enjoy challenging just how far he could push her._

"_Faster, Ms. Valentine, and I wouldn't be able to hit you in the first place."_

_His comment was disregarded, they both knew that no matter how long she trained for, she would never match his strength and agility, and he liked it that way._

_She was starting to like it that way, too. It gave her a goal to reach; a purpose for pushing herself to the limits with what she was given._

_She dodged his next blow, and caught his fist in mid-air. It gave her time to step to the side to avoid another precise swing from his fist. It didn't matter, though, before she could blink an eye, he already had her pinned and to the ground._

"_Do you know what mistake you made?"_

"_No," she replied honestly, submitting to his negative review._

"_You're not thinking about me. You're focusing on the fight, not the opponent. If you want to be good, you have to anticipate what your opponent is going to do," Wesker's reply was automatic and so matter-of-fact that she wouldn't have argued even if she'd had a reason._

"_Let's go again," Jill slid out from underneath Wesker's body, standing on her own accord._

_He followed suit, shaking his head. "No, we're done for today."_

_His resilience angered her; her need to succeed overtaking the submissive characteristics of the P30. Without thinking, she lunged. Her fist hit its target, directly into Wesker's jaw as she swung her body around to make contact with her foot. Wesker grabbed her leg in the air, forcefully pushing her to the ground and then lifting her back up by her throat. He had her caged against the concrete wall, his grip around her throat a cold and unrelenting. She could feel the breath escaping her, and with the last shred of humanity left in her body, she consciously begged for this to be the end._

_But it wasn't; it never was with him._

"_Does this feel familiar, Ms. Valentine? I believe you've seen a situation similar to this before. Chris got himself into quite a predicament, didn't he? And you had to rush in and save him," his grip tightened. "You see, neither of you anticipated my actions. Chris ignored the possibility of his own death - and yours, for that matter - because he was blinded by rage. You…well, you were just foolish. Where is Chris, now? Hmm?"_

_She let her world go black._

* * *

><p>Leon watched as Chris sat solemnly on the porch, staring out into the darkness surrounding them. A pack of cigarettes lay empty beside him, his hands framing his face as he continued his brooding. He was unsure of what had been so unsettling about Chris's conversation with Rebecca, but he hadn't seen the normally stoic man so bothered since his initial return from Africa.<p>

"He looks like he's losing it, doesn't he?"

Jill's voice startled him, causing him to almost lose his footing. He made brief eye contact with her, nodding his head before following her gaze back to her former partner.

"He's been out there a while. Ever since - "

"Ever since the phone call with Rebecca, I know," Jill met Leon's curious gaze. "What? I'm crazy, not deaf."

Leon was unsure of how to respond, and was almost glad when Jill started for her bedroom. It wasn't that he didn't want to make conversation with her; truth of the matter was that she frightened him sometimes with how stone-faced she could be in the midst of everything that had happened to her. Leon wanted to call it strength; he wanted to call it perseverance in the face of the ultimate struggle.

But mostly, he felt like she was a bomb waiting to explode and threatening to take all of them with her.

He had seen his share of therapists throughout the years since Raccoon. He liked to blame it on his job and their rightful obsession with the mental stability of their agents, but he knew that he would be half-crazed without the coping mechanisms drilled into his brain by the PhDs he had gotten on a first name basis with.

Jill had been to therapy multiple times before Kijuju, he had seen it all in Jill's files before his newest assignment, and he'd also heard about it personally from Claire during their impromptu hours long phone calls he had grown so accustomed to before Chris's return. Claire would ramble about her worries for her brother, mentioning Jill only in passing unless Leon pried. She didn't like to bring up Jill; it seemed her death had broken the hearts of both Redfield siblings.

"_She was everything to him, you know? And I was okay with that. She was first girl he was with that I didn't completely despise and try to run out of his life. She was good to him and she was good to me, and that's what he needed - that's what I needed for him so I could stop worrying about him so much."_

_He could hear her voice beginning to strain as she tried to hide the tears he knew she was shedding on the other line._

"_I just don't know what to do for him anymore, Leon. Things used to be so simple. Both of us in it together until fucking end. Now it's always the fucking end - every single time he or I walk out the door. I keep waiting for a gun shot or for some undead freak to grab me and tear out my throat."_

"_Claire, stop. You're getting too worked up. Chris will be fine. This is just a routine mission," Leon rushed to excuse her brother's actions. He hardly had any idea how to deal with this side of Claire. The Claire he was used to was always in survival mode, but her brother's instability as of late had turned her into a total mess._

"_Bullshit, Leon. Bullshit. Don't act like I don't know what this is. Just because I'm not in the BSAA or running around like 007 doesn't mean I'm fucking stupid," she spat. She was angry, and she was going to take it out on the only person who would let her right now._

"_I didn't say you were stupid. I don't think that at all. If you were, you'd be dead by now," he replied bluntly._

_She scoffed, and silence befell the line._

"_I miss you," she whispered through the phone, regretting it the moment it fell from her lips._

"_Yeah?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Me too," Leon sighed into the phone, remembering the last time he had seen her in person._

* * *

><p>Jill shivered, drawing the blanket around her tighter. She had originally thought that her sensitivity to the cold was just a symptom of withdrawal, but as she watched Chris from the kitchen window, she could see his breath as he exhaled. It dawned on her that she didn't even know the date, let alone what time of the year it was.<p>

Feet shuffling across the floor caused her to look away from her former partner, and she met the gaze of the BSAA guard she had attacked earlier in the morning. He stopped, startled to see her outside of her room.

"Do you need something?" He asked carefully. She could tell he was assessing her posture, ensuring she was coherent and without weapon.

"I just needed to get out of my room for a little bit," she decided to address the elephant in the room. "I'm sorry I hit you."

The guard put his hand up. "It's okay. I probably shouldn't have barged in on you like that."

Jill nodded. He had every right to barge in on her; she was certifiable, needed to be watched 24/7.

"_It's not like it's new. Wesker saw everything."_

"Do you want me to go get Captain Redfield?" He gestured at the window.

"No, I can get him," her cheeks flushed, embarrassed that he could tell she was watching him. He continued to stand there, confused as to why she wasn't leaving to go get Chris. Her annoyance flared, and she headed for the door to the porch to satisfy the guard.

As she pulled the door, Chris's massive frame was already in the doorway with the same intention. She gasped, inhaling the scent of cigarettes and cold.

Chris froze, fearful any movement would trigger an anxiety attack. When he saw Jill's rigid shoulders relax, he released the breath he was holding, and waited for her next move.

"I'd like to talk to you about your phone call earlier," she said, and turned toward her room, expecting him to follow.

"That's not important."

His reply surprised her. He had been chomping at the bit for any chance to talk to her, and now he was refusing it?

"It is to me."

"Jill, I don't think it's best - "

"I don't think you're qualified to tell me what's best, Chris," she regretted the remark before it had finished leaving her tongue.

Pain flashed in his eyes, and he took a few steps toward her room. He shut the door behind him and awkwardly leaned against the wall as Jill took a seat on the end of her bed. The room was dark, moonlight serving as the only illumination. It poured over Jill's sickly frame, painting her pale skin an even whiter color. She looked ghostly, and it made Chris nauseous for the past.

"I want to know what she knows about me," Jill said after a moment of silence. "You had no right to send my medical records to her. Do you know how humiliating it is seeing these BSAA doctors, let alone _Rebecca_?"

"What do you have to been embarrassed of, Jill? You're alive. That hardly qualifies as humiliating," he retorted, suddenly feeling more defensive than normal.

"You don't understand," she hissed. "You don't know what I went through!" She kept her voice low, for fear Leon or one of the guards would hear, but the intensity of her words was not lost.

"I know more than you think I know," Chris realized it was a stupid thing to admit, but conversations with Jill were few and far between, and he decided to make this one count.

The expression on her face immediately changed from angry to horrified. Of course he would know the general information of what happened to her; it was stupid to think the doctors wouldn't tell Chris of the demand for a pregnancy test and of the results of her physical. Doctor-patient confidentiality wasn't exactly programmed to hide the secrets of the dead.

She opened her mouth to speak, but instead found a tingling sensation had entered the back of her throat, and was working its way up to her face. Her cheeks felt flushed and the outline of Chris's frame was becoming distorted as tears began to well up in her eyes.

"_You've got to be fucking kidding me," _she thought to herself.

If Chris noticed the change in her demeanor, he didn't address it, and for that, she was thankful. She swiped her hand at her face to catch the tears before they fell, and shook off the foreign emotion.

"I guess you're disgusted with me," she had no idea where the response even came from. Her mind was operating without conscious thought, and she blamed the withdrawals for her actions.

He took a moment to formulate his answer, and for a moment, Jill was afraid he was going to affirm her worries.

"I don't know what happened to you while you were with Wesker, Jill, but I do know that whatever it was…it's not enough to make me reconsider you who you are. You're still my partner."

"Your partner died saving your ass, Chris. Let her go."

It wasn't like Chris to walk away without a fight, but he seemed to acquiesce with her obvious conversation ender.

It wasn't like Jill to cry after her resurrection, but as the door slammed shut and she was left alone with her thoughts and a feeling of true drowsiness for the first time in weeks, she let herself go.

For the first time in nearly two years, Jill Valentine wept over her death.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Things have been busy. I appreciate all the feedback I've been receiving on this one. It's definitely a nice motivator to keep it going. I hope this cleared up any confusion that may have been incurred from the prior chapter. Please review!<strong>


	4. Speak Now

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Four: Speak Now**

_Jill sighed, arching her back and pushing her hips upward toward her lover's. Sweat clung to her skin; the heat in the air mixing dangerously with body temperatures, like an inferno ready to engulf them._

_His hands roamed over her skin, making sure to touch every inch of her. She had tried to keep up with them at first; tried relish the roughness of his hands, but she had given up as he continued to thrust and her eyes rolled further back into her head. _

_What was the saying? Fucking her brains out?_

_His teeth were at her neck, then her collarbone; nipping and scraping as she begged him for more. But she was already taking all that he could give._

_She felt her body tensing, and sensed the reaction it caused in him. His hands became rougher; his thrusts quicker. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming and grabbed his face, pulling his mouth toward hers._

_Connection, at its most primitive level._

* * *

><p>12:03 A.M.<p>

Leon glanced down at his watch and rubbed his eyes. No wonder he was so tired. Ever since he had arrived at the safe house, he had become adjusted to early mornings and even earlier nights; a stark change from his former espionage/bodyguard/whatever-the-government-needed life, where sleep was merely a suggestion - a loose one at that.

Chris suddenly entered Leon's line of vision, startling him a little. He paid no mind to Leon as he stormed passed him; jaw set and eyes scowling the whole way to his own bedroom.

"_Guess that didn't go well."_

He had no idea what _that _was, but if it involved Jill, it was no surprise.

_Bam_!

The noise caused Leon to bolt upright from the recliner in the living room. The BSAA guards came from each end of the house, guns raised, aimed at the door to Chris's room.

"Uh…I think it's fine, guys," Leon said meekly, assuming the infamous Redfield temper had flared to the service. "We should probably get some plaster tomorrow."

"We should still investigate. It's protocol," Jameson muttered.

"I'll go," Leon figured it was a dumb decision to check up on Chris immediately after he'd put his fist into the first hard surface he could find, but one of the BSAA guards had already been injured that day. "Think of it as taking one for the team."

The guards nodded in acknowledgment, but they didn't seem to find the humor.

_Knock. Knock._

"Hey Chris, mind if I come in before these guys come in with their guns blazing?"

"Whatever."

Leon took this as an affirmative, and entered the room, opening the door wide enough for the guards to see no one else was in the house and Chris was in no immediate danger, before shutting it behind him. He saw the hole in the wall, immediately to his left.

"Well, I guess you showed him?"

"I know Claire probably told you to look out for me, and I get that you're trying to respect that wish, but I'd really rather to just go to bed," Chris stated numbly.

"Okay, goodnight," it was true; Claire had asked Leon to look after Chris the last time he had spoken with her, before they had all been ushered into separate safe houses. Her request had been more of a plea, as if she knew all hell was going to break loose.

In some respects, he guessed it had, but there was still opportunity for more to go wrong.

"Goodnight," Chris's stern response steered him from the room, and back out into the living area of the house. The guards were changing shifts, settling down throughout the house.

Sleep sounded like a nice reprieve from the events of the day, but Leon couldn't shake the feeling that he should savor the moment while he could. In just a few hours, Jill was due for her next appointment with a psychiatrist. If she didn't speak at this appointment, it was likely the BSAA would pursue further action - forceful action - to assist Jill in finding her way back to their standards. It seemed cruel to expect so much of someone who had already endured what she had, but in matters such as these where confidential information and the safety of the public was involved, sympathy was too much to afford.

Leon turned off the light.

* * *

><p><em>She allowed him to undress her, arching her hips off the bed as he slid her underwear off. She shivered against the chill of his hands and the temperature in the room. It was always so fucking cold.<em>

_His hands roamed over her body. They were cold, too. She wondered if she felt the same. Her skin was like snow now; pale and unblemished. _

_He pinned her arms back, breathing hotly over her neck as he slipped into her. Automatically, she locked her legs around his torso, and found his rhythm. He could go for hours, and he probably would._

_She didn't even bother locking the door anymore._

* * *

><p>Her eyes flew open, refusing to adjust to the total darkness filling the room. Someone had pulled her curtains in the middle of the night. Her chest was burning, and she began clawing at it furiously, trying to make the pain and itchiness subside. She had no idea what was going on; something was trying to tear through her skin. Jill untangled herself from her sheets and rushed to the bathroom in her room, fumbling for the switch as she simultaneously ripped the shirt from her body.<p>

Once the gauze had been removed, she could see that the stitches in her chest had broken and come unwoven from her skin. It would have been a grizzly sight a few weeks ago, but her skin had mostly healed itself together. A little bit of blood trickled out, and she grabbed a Kleenex to dab at it.

The burning sensation had vanished, but her hands were still trembling. She had felt that same sensation her first night conscious with Wesker; the first time she had been aware of the device in her chest pumping the P30 relentlessly into her veins.

"_You should be grateful for this, Ms. Valentine. Otherwise, you'd be at the bottom of the ocean right now with Chris."_

She cringed at the sound of his voice in her ears. It was so clear; embedded in her brain and underneath her skin permanently.

The wound was no longer bleeding, so she began rustling around in the medicine cabinet to see if there was any antibacterial ointment. Considering the fact that she wasn't even allowed to have scissors, nail clippers, or medication around, she figured she would come up short. She shut the doors to the cabinet quietly, deciding it wasn't worth it to continue searching. If the wound got infected, it would be the least of her worries.

She sat down on the edge of the bathtub and placed her head in her hands. She had no awareness of time. She just knew it was dark and quiet, and her appointment with the psychologist was nearing and if she didn't speak, she'd be thrown back into captivity. What was she supposed to say? They knew she was a murderer. They knew she was fucking Albert Wesker. She didn't feel like explanation was necessary in those respects. Jill Valentine had died a martyr, and her resurrection wasn't doing much to honor that memory.

The phone ringing startled her, and she quickly grabbed the t-shirt she had discarded in a panic on the floor. She heard the commotion of doors opening as she crossed to hers to peer out into the hall. She saw Chris, sleepy and disoriented shambling toward the guard who had gotten to the phone first. His face was serious, clearly concerned about the nature of the call.

Leon's door yanked open suddenly, and he rushed out to where the activity was happening. The men crowded around the phone and the guard handed it to Leon. Jill could tell from the look on Chris's face that he was pissed off. Relinquishing control to someone else was not his forte, and Jill imagined he had been doing a lot of it lately due to Leon's presence.

Leon's voice was hushed, and he slammed the phone on its receiver.

"There was an attempted to break-in at Claire's location,"

"_What_?" Chris was immediately seething.

"She's fine. Everyone's fine, but the BSAA thinks it probably has something to do with the fact that Excella Gionne's family is launching a high profile investigation into the death of their daughter. They're placing the blame on the American government - specifically the BSAA," Leon rushed to explain.

"Of course they are. It's always someone else's fault when their fucking science experiments don't turn out the way they want. Fuckin' classic."

"The perpetrator was caught, and they're getting as much information as they can out of him. Weiss has issued an executive order to move everyone effective immediately."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet. He said he would call in the morning with more information."

"Can I talk to Claire?"

"Yes."

The surprise on Chris's face was apparent. It was clear he had been expecting Leon to say no. He began instructing Chris on the numbers to dial and the codes to input in order to make contact with his sister. Jill saw the worry in his face protruding against the surface of his stoic demeanor. It was the same look he wore before every mission, masked beneath the guise of a confident soldier who never expressed concern for the outcome of the task at hand. She knew better.

"Claire…" his voice drawled, and she saw the worry diminish.

* * *

><p>"Uh ma'am?"<p>

"Yes?"

"We've got instructions to leave in the morning…I know you don't have much here but whatever you've got you need to pack it," his politeness was always so calming to Rebecca, as opposed to the forcefulness of her descent into hiding.

She set her pencil down, and folded the pages of the numeric puzzle around it, careful to hold her place for whenever she picked it up next. She had a lot of downtime and Sudoku seemed to ease her nerves.

"What about my work at the lab?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am. I've just got orders from the boss ahead to get you out of here."

"Did something happen?"

He shifted uneasily. His name was Collins, and he was young - perhaps almost as young as she had been when she had entered S.T.A.R.S. She felt a kinship with him because of that, though, they never talked enough to develop any semblance of a friendship. The guards were all instructed to manufacture distance from those they protected in case danger was present. Loyalty was fine, other emotions were banned. She knew the protocol well.

"Just get your things ready, okay?" He offered a smile and exited the room without any further explanation, probably to avoid incriminating himself.

Rebecca vacated the kitchenette and moved toward her bedroom. She took stock of the empty room, and rolled her eyes. She had less here than she had when she'd first gone off to college. She grimaced as the thought stung. It had been a decade; a whole decade that had transformed her from a shy and brilliant girl who called her parents at least twice a day and spent her nights perusing medical journals for fun into a seasoned veteran of biological warfare that lived like a vigilante and spoke to her parents once a month at best.

"At least you have friends now?" She mumbled to herself, and laughed at the sardonic truth.

* * *

><p>"Chris!" She clung to the phone receiver, eagerly awaiting his response. It had been over three months since she had directly spoken to him last. Regardless of their lives ever since Raccoon, Claire never adjusted to not hearing from Chris on a regular basis. He was the only family she had left, and no contact in their lives meant the possibility of never speaking again - that wasn't something you just got used to.<p>

"What the hell happened? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. BSAA got to him before he ever even got in here. They did their jobs," she rationalized, hearing the anger blending with concern evident in his voice. She felt nostalgic for the days in which his tone was used at the mention of a boy, not a threat on her life.

"Their _jobs _are to keep you safe and hidden, so things like this don't happen to begin with," he hissed in response.

"Chris, chill out. I'm fine. Nothing that hasn't happened before," she quickly shifted the topic of the conversation, not caring to hear him complain about the incompetence of the BSAA. "Where are we being moved to? Am I going to see you soon? What the fuck happened in Kijuju?"

The barrel of questions came at once, and Chris decided to deflect all of them. He did not have answers for her, nor was he ready to tell Claire that he had brought Jill back from the dead. He felt as if it was his secret to keep; fearing that if he spoke about it, she would disappear again. It was completely irrational, but it scared him senseless, especially with Jill's current fragile state.

"Chris?"

Claire's voice shook him from his thoughts. "Huh? I don't…I don't really know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You're the Captain!"

Chris scoffed. "Leon gets more information than I get these days."

Claire could hear the annoyance in his voice. "I miss you, big brother."

It was strange, how after not speaking for months, they seemed to have nothing to say to each other. It was as if the simple sound of one another's voice was enough to suffice until the next time. Chris shook his head. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

"I miss you, too."

* * *

><p>Jill read the credentials of the psychiatrist for the fourth time. This was how each of her prior appointments had gone. She spent her time looking over how qualified this woman was to speak to her, and then tuned out for the rest of the time; fascinated by how slowly time moved now that two years of her life were completely lost.<p>

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to start with?"

Dr. Pearce's voice was smooth and comforting. She had a pleasant demeanor, but not so much so that it was painfully sickening to Jill. She was young - probably a year or two younger than Jill - and she was obviously relatable. Her medals proved that she, too, was a veteran of war.

"_I fucked Albert Wesker numerous times. His intention was to breed a perfect bioweapon, but he knew that the serum inside of him would not allow for reproduction. I knew it. Excella knew it. And yet he still continued, and I let him."_

"We don't have to talk about your capture. We can talk about anything, Lieutenant Valentine."

"_I stopped fighting so quickly. The P30 was an easy excuse to just do what he said. I murdered innocent people with my bare hands. I aided in the destruction of Kijuju. I helped a monster spread his disease."_

"Jill," she corrected quickly. The last thing she wanted was a sign of respect from a fellow BSAA member. She had done nothing to earn it.

"Jill," Dr. Pearce repeated, smiling warmly. "Has it been hard adjusting since your return?"

It was an obvious question. They both knew it. Jill frowned at the time. Twelve minutes in and she hadn't done any talking.

"Yes," she answered meekly, nodding her head for emphasis. "I suppose it has."

The sound of her voice shocked both Jill and the psychiatrist.

"Your medical charts talk about panic attacks. Are these induced by something in particular or is this just all so overwhelming to you?"

"_If you give a mouse a cookie…"_

Jill sighed. "I've been dead for two years, I'd say it's a little more than overwhelming."

Dr. Pearce took note, probably of Jill's sour attitude. She was sure that meant something to her pocket-sized DSM-IV.

"You've been in the war?"

"I was a medic. I did two tours."

"How did you get involved with the BSAA?"

"My brother died in Raccoon City."

Her response was like a slap in the face. Initially, she had been trying to deflect any questions Dr. Pearce had about her condition. She was clearly more qualified than Jill wanted to believe.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

The psychiatrist waved her hand. "Why don't we focus on you?"

28 minutes left to go.

* * *

><p>Leon glanced up as Chris, Jill, and a barrage of BSAA guards entered the safe house. The guards nodded at Chris as they exited the house, slamming the door shut behind them. Leon feared it would break from the hinges. He watched as Jill walked passively to her room, shutting the door without speaking a word.<p>

Leon was afraid to look at Chris questioningly. The man owed him no explanation.

"She spoke," Chris said casually after a moment of silence. "I don't know how much but Dr. Pearce told me any word exiting her mouth could be considered a sign of progress. She's been pretty shaken up ever since, though."

"Panic?"

"Sad," Chris countered.

"Ah," Leon nodded. "Well, the good news is, we're not moving for another few days. Weiss is still trying to figure out what to do with all of us. I think you terrify him."

Chris arched an eyebrow. "I should. That's my sister he's jeopardizing, and Rebecca."

"He sounds like he doesn't have a clue. Personally, I don't think Gionne's family is going to be much of a threat. The story has already broken to the media about what was going on in Kijuju. It's a diluted version obviously, but it's enough to paint an obvious villain."

"Yeah. Well, if I've learned anything in the last ten years, it's that nothing has been enough to keep the bad guys down for good," Chris called over his shoulder, shrugging his leather jacket on as he exited with his cigarettes and lighter in hand.

Leon thought over Chris's words carefully. He was right, regardless of how pessimistic the statement was. Leon had seen firsthand how quickly the heads of government could write off evidence as nothing more than a catchy tabloid headline. It was a damn shame how easily most of the last decade could have been prevented, had everyone not had their hands in Umbrella's breadbasket.

"_Agent Kennedy, I wanted to extend my personal gratitude for your success. I cannot express how grateful I am that you returned Ashley home safely," President Graham offered his hand, which Leon shook loosely._

_He was exhausted. He hadn't slept in close to four days, and all he could think of was getting to the nearest hotel and passing out. She would be waiting for him there; it was his only motivation to not drop to the floor of the oval office._

"_You can take as much leave as you want, Kennedy. All expenses paid."_

"_Thank you for the generosity, sir," Leon forced out, stifling a cough to avoid angering the pain in his stomach and back. "The evidence of Las Plagas…that made it safely?"_

"_It has been dealt with."_

"_Dealt with?"_

"_You shouldn't concern yourself with those matters. You did your part, let us do ours," President Graham's smile was quickly wavering, the false light in his eyes flickering to trepidation._

"_I have to concern myself with those matters. If there's another company out there like Umbrella - "_

"_The situation is taken care of. Rest up, Kennedy. I'm sure you'll need it."_

_Before Leon could counter, he was being ushered out by members of the Secret Service, explaining to him that a healthy deposit would be made into his account and to contact the number he had been given when he was ready to get back to work._

_And just like that, he lost the naïve hope he had been clinging to since Raccoon City. The hope that told him he was born to serve and protect, and as long as he carried that burden, there would still be good in the world._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Thanks to all who have been reviewing! I'm impressed this is getting read as much as it has been. I appreciate all the feedback and the favorites. I'm a little displeased with the direction this chapter took, but hopefully it did not disappoint. <strong>


	5. No Light

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Five: No Light**

"I could have just stayed with Terra Save, you know. You didn't have to put me under BSAA's care," Claire grumbled, as she cradled the phone receiver between her shoulder and ear, stirring the pot of Ramen cooking on the stove. Trips to the grocery store were limited, and Claire's stomach growled constantly for fast food. Luckily, her year in college had taught her to survive with limited food resources. Ramen was the next best alternative to a gourmet meal or a trip to the nearest burger joint.

"No offense, Claire, but I think the BSAA can handle defense a little better than Terra Save."

She scoffed at her brother's cockiness. "Ah, so we're the brains and you're the brawn?"

"_Ha. _Let's not forget who taught your ass how to defend yourself," Chris countered, smiling against the phone. It was the second day in a row he had gotten to talk to his sister, and the improvement of his mood was not lost on any resident of his safe house.

"I think I've done okay for myself, big brother."

"You have," he admitted softly. He would never seriously discount her brushes with biological warfare. She had survived Raccoon, Rockfort Island, and Hardvardville; a veteran in her own right. He just preferred to ignore it, especially when it came to protecting her.

The line beeped, signaling the end of their call. Claire sighed, obviously frustrated as she placed the phone back on the hook.

"_They could at least give us a warning."_

She drained some of the water from the pot before pouring the noodles and seasoning into her bowl. As she plopped down onto the couch to enjoy her meal, she felt a sense of nostalgia overcome her. Had it not been for the three BSAA agents standing guard at various areas of the apartment, she would have felt like she was back in college.

She shook her head of the thought. There was no use in thinking about what could have been. She'd already finished her degree in the years following Raccoon City, and there was no turning back. She had always been an adrenaline junkie, and with corporations dealing in the black market with bio-weapons, there was always a fix to be had. Besides, her career with Terra Save had made her feel accomplished. Its joint efforts with the BSAA were proving fruitful, and that was enough to satisfy her.

Normalcy, on the other hand, was something that adrenaline could never trump for her. She was older now, and although domestication seemed to still be so far out of reach, it didn't mean she didn't pine for it, too.

Claire sighed, shoving her fork into the noodles.

"_Goddamnit, Leon."_

* * *

><p>Jill scratched at her chest, wincing as her short nails rubbed over the taught skin through the gauze pad. Chris cocked an eyebrow as he watched her from the doorway.<p>

"What's wrong?"

His voice startled her, even though she knew he was there. He was always there.

"It's nothing. My stitches are just kind of itchy."

"Let me see," he wasn't demanding, yet.

"No," she stated firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because, Chris, I'm not a child. I can fucking deal with a few stitches."

"Then I don't see what the problem is in letting me see _if you can fucking deal with a few stitches_."

His mockery went unnoticed as she tuned him out. She was exhausted, and all she wanted was to sleep. Her morning at the therapist had been enough to turn her into an emotional train wreck, and she had barely even scratched the surface of confessing for her sins. Chris was doing nothing to aid her; his presence was enough to infuriate her at the moment.

"Jill, let me see."

She shook her head, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in frustration. She didn't care if he saw the stitches that had ripped out, nor did she care if he saw how angry the skin looked. She cared that she would have to remove her shirt for that. It was invasive to her, and his steady requests were treading dangerously close to a line she was not ready for him to cross yet.

"Chris, fuck off," she extended her arm to slam the door to the bathroom shut, but he shouldered his way in before she could do so. She shoved the door back and she could see the surprise on his face at how hard he had to push to force his way in. She had become stronger in her time with Wesker; it showed, even despite the harsh withdrawal from the P30.

But Chris, too, had swelled in size. Jill felt like he would be able to snap her in half at any moment.

"_Just like Wesker…"_

"Chris! Get the fuck out of here! What the hell is wrong with you?" Her defensive yelling blocked out the thoughts she knew were coming.

"Jesus Christ, I'm not fucking doing anything to you. I just want to make sure that shit isn't infected, Jill. It was a pretty big wound."

"Thanks, Chris. As if I didn't know there was a gaping hole in my chest," her eyes welled with tears and she turned her head away, staring at the tiles on the floor so that he wouldn't see. She just wanted to be angry and her tears were betraying that emotion.

"That's not what I meant. Just let me see," his voice had dropped several decibels. She could tell he was at a loss.

"Look, just get out of the bathroom. I'll show you in a second, okay?"

He stood for a moment, considering whether or not her offer was true, before he stepped backward out of the bathroom and let Jill close the door behind him.

Moments later she exited, shirt off, and a towel wrapped around her torso, covering everything except for the wound and her shoulders.

"Why didn't you say something while we were at the medical complex? That's going to be infected if it's not already!"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "Guess I just had a lot on my mind."

"I'm going to get Harper, he's a field medic. He can probably stitch - "

"No," she felt the panic seize her. "Nobody is touching me. Especially not some fucking stranger."

"You don't have a choice. It's either him or me, and let me tell you, it won't be pretty if it's me. You know all that basic medical training was a crock of shit."

Jill clutched the towel tighter around her frail frame, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth. She knew he was right, but she would much rather ignore the notion of infection. Going back to the BSAA on-base hospital would be too much of a hassle, and would be frowned upon; especially with the recent incident of an attempted break-in. Besides, after her initial stay in the hospital upon her return, she was done the sterile rooms and the surgical gloves. It was too much like her cell in Kijuju.

"_Chris or Harper? Partner or stranger?"_

"You," she grumbled.

"What?"

"I said you," she hissed. "If you're not going to drop this then fucking stitch me up."

Chris frowned. He had hoped she would be rational and would pick someone who knew what they were doing. He hadn't performed stitches since 2005, when the BSAA had instituted semi-annual basic medical training courses with the hopes that at least a little medical training could possibly be enough to save someone's life in the field. He wished he had taken it more seriously.

He stood up, leaving Jill alone in the room to go find Harper and ask where the first aid kit was. This wasn't going to be pretty.

* * *

><p>Rebecca sat in front of her computer screen, idly running more analyses over the information on the patient Chris had sent her. If this woman had truly been infected with the culmination of Wesker's work, then her blood would hold the key to the key to an anti-virus.<p>

She scoffed at the word. It was literally the root of all evil. Her work with the BSAA had been strictly to identify the specific pathogens involved with the various evolution of the viruses circulating throughout the black market between pharmaceutical companies. While Chris and Jill and the others played hero, risking their lives to take down evil conglomerate figureheads who protected people like Wesker, she sat at a microscope watching the viruses multiply and wondering how they could ever obtain victory. How could they expect her to keep up with medical phenomena bred from mad scientists and evil geniuses? They couldn't even capture Wesker, let alone kill him.

But here it was; a potential solution to her entire work and her chance to lend a hand in saving the world.

"_It only cost you a decade, half your teammates, and your best friend's life."_

Tears sprung at Rebecca's eyes as she remembered the night Jill Valentine died.

"_Captain Redfield this is base, please respond."_

_Silence._

_What had gone wrong? Five minutes ago Chris had been cracking jokes with the communications specialist about hiring Spencer as an interior decorator for the BSAA HQ. Now a steady crackle of static and white noise coated the line._

"_Redfield! Answer me, that is an order!"_

_Nothing._

_Rebecca sat anxiously, chewing at her nails. When intel had arrived that Spencer had been sighted, Chris and Jill had immediately set to work on a plan to infiltrate the mansion and capture him. Rebecca thought it sounded too much like that fateful night that had ignited everything._

"_We'll be fine, Becs. I think you've got us loaded up with enough paraphernalia to bring us in on some serious drug charges," Chris winked, shouldering his medical pack and flashing the winning Redfield smile he was notorious for._

_Jill had rolled her eyes and placed her hand on Rebecca's shoulder. "Hey, this is our shot to take him out and make him pay for what he's done. You just be ready to put those healing hands to work, because by the time we get through with Spencer, he's going to it - or you know, for Chris. He's clumsy."_

_It was reassurance that Rebecca was useful, even if it was guised behind a silly joke. She wanted to be there, fending off the bad guys and covering Jill and Chris as they had her so many times before, but she was more capable at the lab awaiting their return with possible information about what Wesker had been working on. She wasn't a weak soldier, Jill had reminded her of that on numerous occasions, but delegation made more sense. This wasn't S.T.A.R.S._

"_Get the fucking chopper down there! She's gone!"_

"_Redfield? What?"_

"_I SAID GET THE FUCKING CHOPPER DOWN THERE! SHE FELL! THAT FUCKING BASTARD TOOK HIM WITH HER!" _

_Rebecca saw the communications specialist rip the headphones from his ear as feedback rippled throughout the station. He began frantically punching buttons and calling for assistance. The noise was muted through the window, but she could tell something awful had happened. Her stomach clenched tightly, wadding into knots._

_Thirty minutes later and a call came through to the lab asking Rebecca to prepare the strongest tranquilizer she could without jeopardizing the health of a human. The order said the BSAA had sustained a casualty and that this was the best course of action to prevent the surviving partner from causing harm to himself or to others. His ETA was 46 minutes._

_Rebecca went numb._

* * *

><p>If there was anything that had been jeopardized throughout Leon's career in serving and protecting, it was the meaning of the word logic.<p>

He had taken philosophy courses as prerequisites in college, and he barely remembered the convoluted definition described in his textbook. With a little common sense one could deduce that stitching up a highly trained former prisoner of war suffering from PTSD was a job for medical professionals, preferably ones with access to sedatives.

According to Chris Redfield, that was all bullshit.

Leon watched as the man in question exhaled a plume of smoke into frigid air. He really couldn't blame him for picking up the habit again, especially after the events that had unfolded a few minutes prior.

"_I wonder how easily he bruises."_

The prescribed pain medication had not been enough to calm Jill's nerves and/or dull the pain from receiving stitches from untrained hands. Chris had been careful, following Harper's orders to the tee; it was Jill who had been the source of most of the trouble. Three percocets and four shots of whiskey had only served to create a belligerent cocktail. Jill's right hook looked painful; almost as much as her wound had looked once Chris had finished. The skin was already an angry red, presumably from where the stitches had originally torn and scar tissue was attempting to form. Threading a needle through the injury only served to worsen its appearance.

Jill had seemed more queasy about the fact that Chris was touching her more than anything. She had insisted that she be the one to sterilize the wound with rubbing alcohol and the salve provided by Harper's first aid kit. Afterward, when it was Chris's turn to work, she had grimaced before his fingers even reached her skin.

By the time he was knotting off the sutures and cutting the excess, Jill looked flushed with panic and disgust.

She had stumbled half-drunkenly to her room and slammed her door shut, hopefully to sleep off the pain and anxiety awakened by the whole ordeal.

"Why didn't she just say something when we were at the hospital?" Leon mused out loud.

Chris exhaled again, flicking his ashes onto the fallen leaves. It was unnaturally cold already. Fall was coming too quickly.

"I guess she's just tired of lab coats," he answered truthfully.

"Yeah, but come on. No offense but I'd rather you not stitch me up. Shit looked painful."

Chris nodded in response, causing the conversation to dwindle into an awkward silence.

"You think that's going to get infected?"

"I sure as hell hope not. I don't think doctors take too kindly to their patients' punches."

Leon smirked, watching as Chris rubbed his jaw line. Chris had been so calm throughout the entire ordeal, that Leon wondered if he'd been on the receiving end of Valentine's fist prior to this afternoon.

"How's your sister doing?" It was the only topic Leon thought Chris might actually let his guard down for.

"It's funny you ask, because she asked about you earlier, too."

"_Uh oh."_

"Oh," he responded feebly.

"Yeah. Asked if I'd beaten you up yet. I told her I'd thought about it a few times, but that I was a little preoccupied," Chris snuffed the cigarette out on the porch railing, tossing it into the makeshift ashtray by the door.

"I guess you still haven't told her about Jill?"

"I haven't gotten around to that. I figure if we're all going to be moved around soon that I will get to it eventually."

"Don't you think she deserves to know?" Leon knew he was probably overstepping his bounds, but his feelings of protectiveness over Claire were probably close to rivaling Chris's.

Chris glared at him, his brown eyes darkening as he assessed Leon's tone. "Doesn't mean the time is right."

Leon scoffed. He was accustomed to Redfield moodswings, but they were grating on his nerves more and more each day. At least Claire could ultimately be pulled out of her brooding; Chris's condition seemed permanent. He swept a hand through his growing locks and shifted his weight from side to side.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? I just don't want to talk about it right now. I'm still trying to adjust to knowing she's alive and trying to figure out what the hell she's going through," Chris was offering a truce.

"I know, I just don't think you realize how much Jill's death affected everyone else around you, man. We all took it hard."

_Leon fidgeted with his keys in his pocket. He was never good at this kind of thing. _

_The service had been perfect. The BSAA had really gone all out to honor their fallen soldier. To an outsider looking in; it would have been beautiful. There wasn't a cloud in the sky as the sun bore down on the coffin being lowered into the ground. The people dressed in black suits and uniforms stood in a tight circle with their heads bowed._

_He chanced a look to his left and could see Claire's arm linked through Chris's, whose hands were clasped tightly together. He could hear her stifled cries, and didn't need to look at her face to know the tears were steadily falling into the sleeve of Chris's suit jacket._

_Chris's face was hard, seemingly frozen in time. He showed no emotion, and did not react when the final word had been spoken. He simply stared out into the surroundings of the graveyard, watching the wall of soldiers the BSAA had put in place as a precaution. Many of Umbrella's enemies were gathered in one place; it would be the perfect chance to attack._

_But Wesker was dead, Jill had made sure of that. Would anyone still be pursuing them, or was their fight for good finished with a final sacrifice?_

_Leon was shaken from his thoughts as the crowd began to shift. Chris was hugging Claire, whispering quietly to her through her auburn hair. Leon saw Rebecca standing to the side with a tissue pressed to her face with Barry Burton's arm slung around her shoulder. _

_It was a shame that it took matters such as war and death for everyone to be in one place._

_Leon watched for a while, until Claire signaled that she was ready to leave. Bleary eyed, she walked toward him, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. When Leon looked back to cast one final look toward the elder Redfield, he saw the stone-faced man's face had softened and that he was beginning to lose control._

"_He doesn't want to cry in front of me. He thinks if I don't see him cry, then I'll think he's okay. He's an idiot," Claire sniffled at his side._

* * *

><p>It was dark. Again. Another day gone. Jill sat up again and pressed her feet to the floor. She headed toward the bathroom to soberly see the number Chris had done to her chest. The surrounding skin was still a shiny red from the antibacterial ointment, but the stitch itself seemed to be pretty clean. Jill pressed the gauze pad back down, extinguishing the wound from her sight.<p>

She was more than annoyed at the events from earlier, and she vaguely remembered punching Chris in the face.

"_Way to make that a habit."_

Not only had she intended to end Chris's life as he was trying to save hers weeks prior, she had now lashed out again as he tried to heal her wounds - not to mention she had broken the nose of the guard who thought he was protecting her. She was reminded of that every time she saw bracing around the cartilage.

Jill was tired of apologizing; she was also tired of giving herself reason to have to do so. Her therapy stints in the past had taught her a lot of bullshit about forgiveness and coping methods to move forward, but how was she supposed to move forward when there was literally nothing to move forward from? Her life had ended to the world she once knew; Jill Valentine was now a ghost looking in on the damage she had done and continued to leave in her wake.

The visit with Dr. Pearce hadn't served to ease her mind at all, really. Jill's emotional wall was unrelenting, and the psychiatrist had tried not to pry much further after Jill's initial words, probably out of trepidation of future silent sessions. She had confessed to feeling like a stranger to the people she knew, and talked of how the pressure adjusting was more of a chore than an opportunity.

"_Jill, that's normal. Many people suffering from PTSD have the same concerns and fears that you are presenting with. Your triggers and "episodes" as they are called cannot be helped, and this does not make the road to recovery any easier on you."_

"_Wow, that sounds reassuring," Jill muttered._

"_I know it sounds hopeless, but it's not. We just need to get to the bottom of what's causing you to feel threatened and unsafe. If we can eliminate your triggers, or at least make it so that whatever stimulant causes you distress has the opposite effect, you can make progress," Dr. Pearce explained quickly. "Maybe if we talk about what happened to you, we can relate these things back to something currently going on?"_

"_You know what happened to me. I know you've read my file. Everyone's read my goddamn file," Jill was defensive now._

"_I have read your file, but that's merely words on paper, Jill. Your file does not tell me how you were feeling at the time and how you feel now."_

"_I don't know where to begin, and I don't know if I ever will."_

"_Can you tell me the first thing you remember about your capture?"_

_She could, very easily. She relived the moment day-by-day it seemed._

"_No."_

_Dr. Pearce arched an eyebrow, making notes on her papers. She knew Jill was lying._

"_Okay. Why don't you tell me about the flashbacks you've been having?"_

"_Isn't our time up for the day?"_

"_If you don't feel comfortable divulging some of this information to me, Jill, maybe you could talk to someone else? It could help for our future sessions."_

"_Okay."_

Jill had known has soon as Dr. Pearce had suggested it that she would not be talking to anyone else. She would rather a stranger know the details of the past two years of her life than anyone who knew her prior to her time with Wesker. It was evident that tiny details were known about what happened to her, and it made Jill cringe to know that even that much information had been revealed. She wanted to keep everything else locked away out of humiliation and disgust for her actions.

Voices filtered underneath the door, and she realized the nightly card game was probably starting again. Like clockwork, the knocks came.

"Yeah."

"You want anything? Food? Beer? To join?"

Jill peered at Chris's face anxiously, searching in the dim light for a fresh bruise. She could barely make anything out through the darkness of the room and the growing amount of stubble covering his face.

"Can I have the medication Dr. Pearce prescribed?"

"You're not due for another dosage until the morning."

"Oh."

"Just come watch the game, Jill. You don't have to join," Chris's voice was soft and pleading. She could tell he was hopeful that something had changed in the hour long therapy session. He had never been a patient man.

"I'm not coming out there. I'll just go back to sleep."

Disappointment.

"I'll bring you a plate of food and leave you to it then."

Darkness.

Every time Chris walked away, she felt herself longing for contact. The problem was that her last confidante had been Albert Wesker, and he was buried beneath the rubble of his own tragedy, and Jill couldn't seem to undo what he had done to her. Even without the device plunged into her chest and pumping her full of P30, she still found her brain fighting to one thing, and her body doing the exact opposite.

"You fucking bastard," she mumbled out loud. He was dead, and she was left to pay for all that he had done.

As she crawled into bed, she longed for her cell in Kijuju.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Thank you to all who have reviewed. Please continue to do so!<strong>


	6. Blue and Yellow

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Six: Blue and Yellow**

"_Its adapted to her perfectly, Albert. I think it's time."_

"_When it is time, I will say so, Excella. Do not patronize me."_

_Jill frowned, cleaning the dried blood from underneath her fingernails. She hated when they talked about her as if she wasn't there; as if she was just as much of a ghost to them as she was to the world outside._

"_I'm not patronizing you - " Excella stopped short as she saw Jill's curious eyes, her lilt immediately changing to Italian._

_Wesker arched an eyebrow over his dark sunglasses, before following Excella's sideways glance to Jill. She rolled her eyes, tuning them out as they carried on. It was becoming increasingly difficult to continue cleaning her nails. She wasn't allowed a manicure set, which didn't make sense. Wesker trusted her with a machete when they were running his errands, but she had been denied fingernail clippers. He trimmed them for her, keeping them short and brittle, presumably so she wouldn't claw his eyes out._

"_Ms. Valentine," Wesker was suddenly crouched down in front of her, the scent of his cologne assaulting her senses. There were two smells Jill would carry with her the rest of her life - death and Albert Wesker's expensive scent. "Would you like to come with me? I have a few more things to attend to before I retire for the night."_

_Jill stood. If she had been able to laugh, she would have. He always asked her, as if she had a choice. He kept her dosage of P30 just low enough so that she could form her own thoughts, but not so low that she still maintained free will. He thought it was interesting, to watch her give up on fighting him. He had broken her, both figuratively and literally. She was like a caged animal who had been beaten into domestication._

_She followed him, watching his stiff walk as he led her to his vehicle. She wondered who she would be killing next._

_But most of all, she wondered if she would make him proud._

* * *

><p>Chris rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. He could feel it starting to run, and he wondered if it was just from the air, or if he was starting to catch cold. He sat outside, nursing a bottle of beer as he watched the stars peering out between the tops of the trees. The safe house truly was located in a beautiful place; it reminded him so much of his parents' cabin where he and Claire spent a lot of their summers and Christmas breaks.<p>

"_Things could have been so different."_

He had been left the cabin in his parents' will. When he turned 18, he was advised to sell it in order to pay for he and Claire's survival. He had refused, stubbornly holding on to the belief that one day they would raise families and bring them there; the Redfield tradition would live on.

"_It's probably not even fucking standing anymore."_

It had been well over a decade since he had gone to visit the cabin. Nature's wear would surely have wrought its wrath against the aging wood.

Chris sighed, fumbling for another cigarette. He didn't even enjoy it anymore; it was clear his addiction to nicotine had resurfaced. Now, it was a pain in the ass to quell the urges.

Before the screen door even opened, Chris could tell Leon was venturing out into his space. He dropped a beer in Chris's lap and took a seat in the wicker chair a few feet away from Chris, before throwing his feet up onto the porch railing. If it had been the Redfield family cabin, Chris probably would have punched him for good measure.

"Kind of chilly tonight," Leon offered.

Chris sighed. The guy was clearly lonely and searching for some ground to build a relationship with Chris. He wondered if it had anything to do with his sister.

"Yeah, it's nice, though. The mosquitoes aren't out tonight," he relented.

"I never spent much time outdoors as a kid. It makes me wish this place wasn't meant to keep us hidden away."

Chris cracked the top off of his new beer and nodded. "Claire and I spent a lot of time outdoors. Our dad loved hiking in his spare time. We had a place like this growing up. My parents put everything into it."

"No shit?" Leon was surprised at Chris's admission.

"Yeah. We'd go up for a couple of weeks at a time during the summer and winter. We had a blast. There was always something new to do."

Chris's childhood sounded so innocent that he was unsure of how to respond. Of course, he wasn't exactly rehashing taking care of Claire after his parents' death. He had heard bits and pieces of that from Claire. He doubted Chris was going to share details as intimate as those, but he was glad for the conversation.

"I grew up in a city, so there wasn't very many trees to climb or anything like that," Leon offered. "I was a boy scout for a couple of years. I went camping maybe once the whole time."

Chris snorted. "From boy scout to cop? You sure are a cliché, Kennedy."

"My dad was shot on-duty during a routine traffic stop."

The air fell silent between them as the complexity of Leon's life choices became evident.

"I'm sorry," Chris said truthfully. "That must have been awful."

Leon waved his hand, swallowing his beer. "I probably would have become a cop even if he hadn't died. At the time, I just wanted to be a professional baseball player."

"Probably wished you would have stuck with that, huh?"

"No kidding."

Chris rubbed his nose again, sniffling before it started to run. Pressure had begun to form in his sinuses, causing his head to begin a dull throbbing. He couldn't remember the last time he had fallen sick. Maybe the BSAA doctors were right; his body needed to rest. He hadn't exactly taken the best care of himself over the last two years - or the past decade, for that matter.

Leon yawned suddenly, pulling Chris from his thoughts. He didn't have much left to say, so he waited on the other man to spark up conversation again.

"Still no word about her talk with the therapist?"

Like clockwork.

"No, and she doesn't want me to fuckin' prod about it either," he grumbled in response, wishing they could talk about anything else.

"If she spoke at therapy, maybe it's enough. She has another appointment next week."

Chris groaned inwardly. He didn't know how much longer he could take confined to the safe house with just Jill, Leon, and some glorified body guards. He was itching for adrenaline. It was sickening, really, the hell he put himself through and the undeniable urge to do it all over again.

A dangerous addiction.

He wondered if Leon felt the same way.

* * *

><p>Claire sighed, pushing her hair behind her ear again as she tried to focus on the notes in front of her. A phone call had dictated that she be escorted to a new premises that morning, and judging from the intensity of her car sickness, she figured they had been en route to the new place for roughly an hour. Claire always got car sick if she tried reading as a passenger, but she was so behind on work that it was weighing heavily on her mind. Granted, she wouldn't be of much use with outdated intel and lack of communication to Terra Save.<p>

"_The show must go on."_

Most of the information was of sporadic incidences where black market deals had been leaked by scared scientists. Usually, investigations turned up short of the expectations the tip-offs held. While the business of the black market tended to be illegal, Terra Save could only afford to pursue evidence of biological warfare. The world was too sick to give attention to everything that came across their desk.

The van came to a slow stop, and Clare realized they had reached their mark when the men in the front seats began radioing in for clearance. From her perch in the back, she could tell that they were venturing into a large area; not just an off the grid rental unit. This place was some sort of complex.

"Well this looks far from homey," Claire said aloud, garnering a smirk from the guard riding shotgun.

"Yeah, we're not in Kansas anymore, sweetie," came the low drawl from the driver.

Claire shook her head at the comment.

After the van was parked, more guards began flanking the vehicle and the pathway to the entrance. Claire recognized the uniforms as those from the BSAA medical facility located about 20 miles from headquarters. A tightness in her chest arose. If they were near HQ, maybe Chris would be waiting.

She snatched her bags, ignoring the offers of help from the guards. She was determined, and more than anxious to see the situation inside unfold. She wondered why they hadn't informed her that the blackout was over.

"Claire!" A familiar voice stopped her in her trek to the complex. In the entry-way stood a woman just a couple of years younger than her. She had only met her a handful of times in her life, but she recognized her as Chris's former teammate Rebecca Chambers.

"Rebecca?" She managed, trying to wrap her head around what was going on. As far as she knew, Rebecca Chambers had left her position at the BSAA for a job with the CDC. She wondered who else had been thrown into the BSAA's custody under Chris's demands.

"Is your brother with you?" The other woman was hopeful. Claire's heart sank.

"No, I was kind of hoping he would be here. I don't get why they're keeping us separated."

"I wasn't even informed anyone was coming here until about thirty minutes ago. Maybe they just haven't been moved yet?"

"Maybe."

They both knew it was a long shot.

Claire followed Rebecca's lead inside. The building's interior wasn't much different from its exterior; dark and blank. A typical laboratory set up.

"_Guess I'll be sleeping on a gurney."_

"I was at an apartment before this. I think I liked it better there," she mumbled mostly to herself.

"They didn't say why you were being moved?"

"I think it has something to do with an attempted break in. Weiss told me that Excella Gionne's family was looking for someone to blame for their daughter's death."

Rebecca cringed, having heard the name in passing from one of Chris's last phone calls when he asked if she had any information on the up-and-comer Tricell.

"Do you know what happened in Africa?" Rebecca asked tepidly. She wanted to get as much information from the younger Redfield as she could.

"I know that Excella is dead, and that's about it. I don't know what he found out there. I've got no connection to Terra Save right now, so if the BSAA has provided them information…you've got a better chance of knowing than me," Claire responded, motioning to the surrounding area.

Rebecca realized her implications. "Oh, I don't…I don't work here."

Claire's eyebrow arched inquisitively in confusion.

"I know. I quit after…after Jill died," Rebecca rushed the words together. "I work for the CDC currently. The BSAA is just asking me to run tests on someone Chris rescued in Africa - "

"Excuse me?" Claire intervened. "Rescued who?"

Rebecca frowned. She probably wasn't supposed to mention her research, but she didn't see what it could harm. Besides, she'd already allowed the slip to happen, and Claire would never just let that go.

"He brought someone back. I don't know who. Whoever they were, they were infected with the same virus Wesker was infected with," Rebecca watched Claire's eyes darken; she clearly had not known Wesker was involved.

"Wesker was in Africa?" Her voice was stern, and suddenly Rebecca got the comparisons Barry used to make in passing about Chris and Claire.

"…Chris didn't tell you this?" Even Chris had mentioned that to her in the weeks before his departure. Wesker's involvement with Tricell was no secret, and the rumor had been circling for months of his arrival at the Kijuju camp.

Another rumor had also reared its head; one Rebecca thought was too cruel to mention to Claire. Chris had clearly been keeping secrets from her for a reason - probably his warped way of protection - but Rebecca thought she deserved to know.

But she had already said enough.

"Of course he didn't tell me that. Why would he? I'm only his sister. I'm only his _last _next of kin left," Claire hissed.

"Claire, I'm sorry. I assumed you would have known. If not from Chris, then at least from Terra Save."

Claire nodded. Rebecca's assumptions were correct; the BSAA would have immediately relayed this information to Terra Save in order to strengthen communications interceptions, or Terra Save would have discovered the intel first.

Claire shut her eyes.

She had been lied to by Chris for the millionth time, and her job was probably in on it.

* * *

><p><em>Jill clenched her jaw shut, stifling back a moan as she ground her hips against the man underneath her. He responded to her actions, pushing himself into her as deeply as he could and matching her pace.<em>

_She squeezed her eyes shut when his lips brushed against hers, and buried her face into the muscles of his shoulders. She could feel release coming soon._

_She pushed down against him again as he shoved her harder against the wall. She could feel the concrete cracking underneath the impact. She was thankful she could hardly feel anything these days._

_As he began to thrust faster, she wrapped her legs more tightly around him, and dug her short fingernails into the skin of his back. She doubted he felt it, but she liked to make a show of it._

_As he came, she forced her eyes open, glancing up at the tiny camera positioned high above their heads._

_She hoped Excella could see the hatred in her eyes and the pleasure on Wesker's face._

* * *

><p>Jill awakened, body slick with sweat.<p>

An almost foreign sensation was flowing through her veins, and her stomach lurched at the thought. She would rather her recollections be of the vicious murders she had committed than of her liaisons with Wesker.

After a while, it had been impossible to control. He had been the first to have his way with her in the early stages of her adjustments to the P30, and as she became accustomed to the side effects of the serum, she became accustomed to him as well.

Wesker had explained to her that her body would be operating on a higher level, and that her needs would seem more severe than they really were.

She found that she hadn't entirely understood just exactly what "needs" he had been referencing.

As the idea of a shower drifted into her mind, she realized that the water in her bathroom was already running. A slight panic seized her, and as she crept toward the door, she realized it was cracked open slightly.

She knocked softly, holding the door so that it didn't open more than it already had.

"Chris?" She asked tepidly.

He peeked his head out of from behind the slick curtain. "Sorry. I tried to wake you to ask, but you were pretty out of it. I spilled beer all over myself."

Jill nodded, brushing off the intrusion of space. She found herself suddenly unable to move, watching as Chris spoke to her about feeling like he may be catching a cold. The bright lights of the bathroom allowed her to really get a good look at the man she had died for two years prior, as she stood in the dark on the other side of the doorway.

His hair was stuck to his head from the water, hanging flat and almost into his eyes. The weeks' old stubble coating his jaw line made him seem older and rougher, as they hid the bruising and cuts he was still recovering from. Dark circles hung under his eyes, betraying the strength lying stagnant in his muscled frame that was barely hidden behind the translucent curtain. She was sure more wounds were visible on other parts of his body. She could remember the scars from his childhood and the ones from his wars; from saving his partner's life.

"_How did you get this one?" She traced her fingertips lightly over the dimples in his lower back. It was a tiny line, raised and paler than the rest of his tanned flesh._

"_Claire."_

_Jill laughed. "Your little sister?"_

"_She's got anger issues."_

_She scoffed, pushing him slightly. They were naked, sprawled in her bed after a night out with the guys. The clock read 3:28 AM. She had to work in less than four hours._

"_I'm serious!" He defended. "She shot me with my own air soft gun."_

_She couldn't read his expression in the dark; couldn't tell if he was joking or not._

"_Serves you right for having one of those things as a kid," she quipped._

"_But I'm such a good shot now. I have trophies, you know."_

_She rolled her eyes._

"_Besides, you have to start somewhere in order to graduate to something bigger and better," he sounded so serious, like he was about to impart a life lesson. Suddenly, he sat up, stretching his arms out. The streetlight outside filtered through the cracks in her apartment blinds. "You know…to something like these guns!" He wiggled his eyebrows._

_She should have known. "You better be glad you're good in bed, Redfield."_

"Jill?"

Wesker never bruised or bled or blemished; never endured a healing process. It was either life or death; no living or dying.

She had forgotten the beauty in the flaws of humanity.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This took me longer than I expected to get out. I appreciate everyone's commentary on the pacing of the story - I've been worried about people getting bored with Jill at this point. Please review!<strong>


	7. Let the Bad Parts in

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Seven: Let the Bad Parts in**

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Claire glanced up from her magazine.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Rebecca's pen was rhythmically striking the table in front of her. She had one leg crossed over the other, and was intently staring at the Sudoku book in front of her. Her brows furrowed and the tapping stopped as she scribbled her answers down, a small smile of accomplishment momentarily gracing her face.

Claire sighed.

It had been almost a week since Claire had been brought to the BSAA facility where Rebecca had been carrying out her isolation. Initially, Claire had thought that being around someone she knew would help relieve some of the stress the isolation had caused.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Now, she wasn't so sure.

A guard entered the room, startling Rebecca enough that she dropped her pen and her book. They both clattered to the floor.

"Dr. Chambers, there's a phone call coming in for you."

Claire heaved a sigh, feeling irrationally forgotten by her brother…and Leon.

The two women hadn't spent much time catching up; there wasn't much to talk about as far as personal matters were concerned. Rebecca kept to herself and was devoted to her work; Claire couldn't offer much more in terms of conversation either. The nature of Rebecca's work with the BSAA is what plagued Claire's mind, and her brother's former teammate had been more than reluctant to provide so much as an inkling of detail. She seemed nervous every time the conversation ventured in that direction; more nervous than her personality naturally was.

Claire only knew it had to do with whoever Chris had rescued in Africa.

The thought of a BSAA lab rat seemed more than ironic.

* * *

><p>"Have you made any progress in speaking with anyone about what you're experiencing?"<p>

"No," Jill replied curtly.

Dr. Pearce nodded expectantly. "Have you had anymore flashbacks or panic attacks? Anything of that nature?"

"What do you think?" Jill's mood was souring by the second.

"Would you like to tell me the nature of these flashbacks?"

"If I don't, are you going to lock me up and throw away the key?"

"Is that what you want?"

Jill had no answer for Dr. Pearce. At least in Wesker's cell she wasn't at the mercy of humanity.

"Jill, it's not uncommon to feel this way after such a significantly traumatic event. You were captive. Soldiers experiencing PTSD often exhibit signs of - "

"I know what PTSD is, Dr. Pearce," she hated hearing the diagnosis; loathed the idea of being a poster child for the DSM-IV.

"But you don't seem to understand that it's _okay_," Dr. Pearce retorted.

"Because it isn't okay! You have no idea what I've done and enjoyed. The things that I have taken pleasure in are unforgivable."

"To whom? To yourself or to your loved ones?"

Jill rubbed her eyes.

"I wanted to make him proud. I did everything I could to make him proud, and I failed him time and time again."

"Who are you referring to, Jill?"

She didn't dare speak the name. She'd rather the doctor assume "daddy issues" than Albert Wesker.

"I just want to sleep, Dr. Pearce."

"I'm prescribing you beta blockers to help inhibit your violent recalls. The last report I received from the BSAA said that your body should be able to handle medication now. A side effect of this will be drowsiness and lethargy, which should take care of your sleeping problems," Dr. Pearce glanced over at the ornate clock hanging on the wall. "It appears our time is up."

Jill stood quickly.

"Ms. Valentine, I don't know who you feel that you've failed, but I'm sure they see you as anything but a failure."

Her face remained stoic as she exited the room.

"_If only you knew."_

"Have a good afternoon. See you next week."

She closed the door to one obstacle behind her, and barely had a moment to breathe before another was in her face.

"How was your visit?"

"I spoke, if that's what you're asking."

"Okay."

"I have a prescription to get filled," she handed the paper over to Chris weakly. He saw her cheeks turn red after he was finished reading the doctor's scrawl. Embarrassment?

"_Some things never change."_

He nodded, mumbling a few words to a guard who rushed off to take care of the prescription.

He took a seat in the waiting room. Jill followed him wordlessly, taking the chair adjacent from him. At times, her silence was impossible to bear. He wanted to close the distance between them and shake her until she screamed; until that emotionless stare was wiped from her face.

Patience was not one of his best attributes.

"Have you seen a therapist?"

The question startled him.

"You know I've seen therapists, Jill."

"I don't mean for psych evaluations to get clearance to go into the field. Have you seen a therapist to deal with all of this? To deal with what we've done?"

He sighed heavily, finding her wording peculiar. Umbrella had caused a lot of damage to Chris Redfield emotionally. He saw things in the dark; he was agitated easily in large crowds of people; he could no longer stand the sight of snow; he had nightmares that made his chest hurt; the list was endless.

"Umbrella never drove me to see a therapist, if that's what you're asking. Everything we've done, we've done because we had to."

Jill nodded, defeated.

"_Heroes don't need therapy, silly girl."_

"I went to four different therapists after you died," his voice was quiet.

Jill's demeanor changed.

"It was good for me, I guess. I never really got over it, but I learned to cope," he was being vague. Jill wanted to know more about the pain he endured while she was gone. She wanted to know of his suffering.

"_I suffered, too…"_

Willingly.

The conversation died.

* * *

><p>Leon cast the paper to the side. He'd already read it twice; had even caught a couple of typos in some of the articles. His eyes kept searching for any inkling evident in any story that could be related to bioterrorism. The government knew better than to print things of that nature, but Leon had learned to read between the lines; in more ways than just the literal sense. He wondered if Jill's resurrection would be a headline.<p>

Chris had left with Jill in tow earlier that morning, and Leon had decided to get up and spend as much time in peace as possible before the duo returned. He had learned quickly that when it came to matters of Jill, Chris's mood was like a wrecking ball and if he had to be in its path, he wanted to be ready.

Before Jill's appointment, Chris had contacted Rebecca to get an update on Jill's vitals from the blood that had been drawn at her previous visit to the hospital. Rebecca had cleared Jill for anti-psychotics, but only if necessary. Leon was pretty sure Jill's condition called for more than just a prescription, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't know Jill very well; he had only met her on a few occasions and heard anecdotes from Claire. From the little he did know, he assumed Jill had her reasons for not voicing her demons.

The shrill ring of the phone shook Leon from his thoughts. When he picked up, he began punching in the corresponding numbers on the touchtone pad without listening to the operator. He was tired of going through all the motions to get to a phone call; he never thought he'd miss hearing a cell phone ring.

"Agent Kennedy."

"Good afternoon, Agent Kennedy," Weiss crackled through the phone. "Just thought you should know that the approval on your move has come through."

"I believe I heard this same sentiment expressed last week," he muttered in response, tired of all the red tape he had found himself wrapped up in.

"Yes, well, these things take time. You know the drill. Is Captain Redfield available?"

"No. He took Valentine to her appointment and they haven't returned. Can I take a message?" His was sure his sardonic tone was probably deemed as insubordinate, but as far as he was concerned, Weiss was not his superior.

"Just inform him that he and Valentine will have another medical evaluation performed tomorrow morning at 08:00 hours. We need to clear everyone before we can release you guys back into the public."

"_Like we're fucking rats in a cage."_

"Great. Will do."

"I look forward to seeing you, Agent Kennedy."

Leon placed the phone on the hook without another word. His antagonism for Weiss had been growing since before the inception of the BSAA. Weiss had worked for the American government during the Ashley Graham case; he acted as a consultant for the unit Leon worked under, barking orders without any notion of experience behind them.

Somehow, Weiss had ended up acting as head of security over one of the BSAA's North American branches; particularly the one responsible for him at the moment.

When he had put two and two together, his immediate thought was the need to tell Claire. She would appreciate the irony. He had spent many nights on the phone imitating Weiss's condescending drawl and half-assed orders; his annoyance making her laugh.

Chris hadn't found his revelation quite as amusing. Leon didn't hold it against him; he probably wouldn't want to hear anyone's bitching if the situation was reversed.

Oh, how he missed that laugh.

* * *

><p><em>The leather of Wesker's glove pressed against Jill's face as he thumbed her tear away. From anyone else, the gesture would have been one of affection and concern; from him, it was one of disgust.<em>

"_I don't know why you insist on crying, Ms. Valentine. If you continue this deplorable ritual, I will have to up your dosage. You're already operating at quite a high level as it is."_

_Jill remained silent._

"_You may respond."_

"_Fuck. You." She growled the words out. She hated the sound of her own voice these days, but sometimes, it was so cathartic…_

"_How profound," he folded his arms over his chest, waiting on her to pull herself together. "Get dressed."_

_Jill stood, the sheet around her automatically unraveling to reveal her naked form. She wanted her cheeks to burn with embarrassment, and she begged for her hands to grab at the sheet and use it as a cover, or to form a noose to hang herself with._

_Instead, she reached for the suit hanging neatly in the corner of her cell. She could feel his eyes burning into her skin as she pulled it over her body, admiring his work._

"_Come."_

_He exited the cell before she had even finished fastening the suit in place, and she jogged to keep up with him as he traversed his way through the facility. She found herself in the security room of the base, staring at several expensive screens flickering between different areas of the facility they were in. The screen to her left flickered to one of the feeding cages before panning to one of the outer perimeters, and then to Jill's cell._

_Her eyes met Excella's. _

_If looks could kill…_

_Wesker leaned down, tapping a few buttons and taking control of one of the cameras. It zoomed in, focusing on the gated entry._

"_What is Irving's ETA?"_

"_Two hours."_

_Wesker grunted in disapproval._

"_Did you make him aware that I do not appreciate being kept waiting?"_

"_He's already very well aware of that, Wesker."_

"_Inform him that I'm going to make it painfully so if he does not intend to carry out my plans in the exact fashion that I would like - that includes being punctual."_

_Excella stood. _

"_I can smell him on you," she hissed as she brushed by Jill. _

_Jill watched as the doors closed behind her, and then readjusted her focus on Wesker. A wicked smile had crept across his face; it chilled her to the bone._

_And then she realized that he wasn't smiling because of Excella's outward display of animosity toward Jill; he probably hadn't even witnessed the exchange. His leather glove made contact with Jill's cheek once again, and he turned her head so that she was looking at the same screen he was studying with such revere._

"_Look who has finally come to rescue you after all this time. It's a shame he didn't kill himself."_

_Jill could feel the scream building in her throat as she recognized the BSAA symbol on his sleeve, but she didn't have the strength to release it. She was paralyzed by her own accord and the P30 pumping viciously into her veins. _

"_You will simply have to finish him off since he's too weak to do it himself."_

* * *

><p>Rebecca sat in her office, pouring over the recent printouts detailing the vitals of the woman Chris had rescued in Kijuju.<p>

Physiologically speaking, everything about her was perfect. The virus that had been injected into her had adapted to her flawlessly; this woman hadn't been just a host to a parasite, but rather an incubator that enabled the Progenitor virus to evolve without killing her. Watching the virus leave her system was beautiful to Rebecca. It was shrinking away, leaving no damage in its wake.

Medically speaking, it was phenomenal. It possessed Rebecca to want to know more about this woman's medical background. There had to be an answer for why she had been the perfect specimen for the virus. Rebecca knew from her experience in studying Wesker's creations that nothing he did was by chance. She had been selected for a reason.

It was evident that the woman had also been selected as fit to breed with Wesker. The reasons for that also remained unknown. Rebecca was sure it had to do with his hunger to spread his virus the only way he could; by procreating a race that would not horribly mutate upon infection and was not driven by hunger for human flesh.

While forms of anti-viruses had been developed, they were all merely deemed prototypes. The only one Rebecca had seen work effectively was the one that had been given to Jill Valentine in Raccoon City. Rebecca still had all the samples and test results she had run in an attempt to figure out what exactly had gone into its creation. She didn't have nearly the experience or the equipment she had needed then. By the time the world seemed to be on their side, Jill was already gone.

"_I know you didn't fly all the way down here just to get these shots, Chris. The BSAA has a fully-equipped medical facility on base."_

"_A fine one at that. It's a shame it's missing its best doctor."_

_Rebecca blushed. If there was one thing Chris had never lost in all these years, it was his charm. Sometimes she felt as if she were 18 again, smiling shyly at him from across the office. He was the definition of charisma._

_She didn't respond as she dabbed at his arm with a cotton swab, sterilizing the site of injection. He took this as his cue to drop the bomb._

"_Jill's alive."_

_Rebecca's methodical dabbing stopped._

"_Chris…"_

"_Look, before you say anything - before you try to rush me into some therapist's office - just look, okay?" He leaned to the side and shifted through his discarded jacket, producing a crumpled up black and white photograph._

_Rebecca eyed it wordlessly._

"_Terra Save sent it to me. It's legitimate."_

_The photo was blurry; it had obviously been captured by hacking one of the security systems operating on the Tricell base Chris was hell-bent on examining. The photo showed a figure of a woman at an unfortunate angle. Her face was mostly blocked in shadow. It could have been anyone._

_Rebecca resumed her sterilizing before plunging the needle into Chris's bicep. He tensed, his jaw setting. She couldn't tell if it was from the shot or from the disappointment that she didn't believe him._

"_They never found her body."_

"_Because she fell off a cliff, Chris, and into the water. The currents could have pulled her under and had her miles away before the BSAA could even get down there!" She was angry at him for bringing this up; for pouring salt into a wound barely old enough to scab._

"_I can't accept that, Rebecca. I just can't," his voice was weak as she placed a band-aid over the injection site._

_Who was she to judge? She had fled the BSAA in order to cope; to forget about her former life. The pain was there, but it was easier to ignore when you were 600 miles away from those who were still fighting for survival._

_But Chris was the strong one. He was the one they all looked to for answers. What happens when you can no longer believe in what your martyrs die for?_

"_Nothing I say is going to stop you, Chris. I just worry about you. If your mind is focused on Jill instead of catching Irving - "_

"_I'll be fine," she could tell he was incensed as he shrugged his jacket over his shoulders. "I guess I should go easy on this arm today?"_

_She nodded. "Yeah, you should grab lunch, too. If you have some time I can take a break and we can go together. There's some nice places around the city."_

_His face softened, despite the rejection she knew he was dealing with. He'd prematurely opened the wound for himself, too. "I've got some time."_

* * *

><p>Chris watched Jill take the pills. He was half-inclined to make her open her mouth and lift her tongue to ensure she'd received the medicine, but figured it wouldn't have gone over well. She washed the pills down with a bottle of water, and immediately pulled the covers over her frail body. She was dwindling away before his eyes; skin and bones making her look older than she was. Weaker.<p>

She had always been tiny compared to his stature, but it was different now. If she would allow physical contact, his arms could swallow her whole. It was funny in a sick way how easily she had been able to subdue him while he was trying to save her life a month prior. Her strength had rivaled his, and he knew it wasn't entirely attributed to the P30. During her cryostasis, Jill's body had healed entirely from the wear her life had wrought on her; her slate wiped clean, and her body had been redesigned. The result had been Wesker's perfect weapon.

"Stop looking at me like that."

Her voice threw him.

"Why?" His voice was soft in response.

"Because it makes me uncomfortable," she paused, waiting for him to repeat his question. When he didn't, she suddenly felt compelled to continue. "You look at me like I'm the same person, Chris. I can't deal with that. I'm not the same person anymore, and I don't think that I ever will be."

"I don't think you realize that you're not the only one who has changed in the last two years," he sniped.

Jill was taken aback with the forcefulness of his response. It urged her to push the topic.

"I wish I was grieving over your death rather than over the things that I've done. You should have fucking left me there."

"Don't ever say that to me again."

The match was lit.

"You should have. I was better off there. You remembered me the way I should have been remembered. You didn't have to know about any of it. Now you just feel too guilty to throw me into a fucking hospital."

Chris lunged from his place by her bed and captured her face between his hands. Despite his infamous temper, he had never been physical with her. She wondered if she had finally driven him to it. The thrill she felt would sicken him if he knew.

"If you continue to fucking act like this, I will put your ass away. That's what you want, isn't it? You can't just own up to the fact that you were a goddamn prisoner," his eyes bore into her. "You were collateral damage to him, Jill. We all were. How is that your fault? How are _you _responsible for something you did under the influence of a sociopath who got pretty fucking good at controlling and manipulating everyone around him?"

She struggled to turn her head. She couldn't look him in the eyes any longer. She could see that he was trying to hide his anguish; the anger she wanted to draw out of him had turned to hurt, and it was beginning to become harder to feel emotionless toward him.

"Answer me."

"I didn't try to fight for very long, Chris. All it fucking took was a syringe and I was at his beck and call. Do you know the things I did for him?" She brought her face closer to his, despite the fact that he had released her from his grip. "Is this a conversation you're sure you want to have with me? To know that I successfully worked to destroy a decade of a cause everyone we know and love has nearly died for, and I enjoyed _every fucking second of it_?"

He grit his teeth. "I hate to knock you off your high horse, but you were nothing but a puppet. You saved him the time it took to clean the blood off his hands. I wouldn't attribute too much of that success to you."

But he was wrong. Jill had been one of the very few people to survive the P30, and she was also his only option to breed. The fact that he was failing at reproducing was infuriating to him. She may have only been a variable in his genetic manipulation experiments, but it was keeping her alive.

"I did things for him I would have never done for you if you had asked me." He took a step away, defeated. She pressed on. "I _killed_ for him. I _fucked _him. Anything he wanted, Chris. _Anything_. How does that make you feel?"

"Like I'm not the monster you need me to be."

_Checkmate._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I hate this chapter. I really needed it to fill in a space between now and what happens in the next chapter, which I've already started working on and am much more pleased with. Sorry if I disappointed anyone! Fillers are always so defeating to write and I really wanted to do more with this, but I just couldn't. Please review!<strong>


	8. Down

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Eight: Down**

"This is the last bit of data on the video discs we were able to salvage before everything went to hell. It was a few hours before we arrived."

Chris nodded, watching as the image on the screen jumped around before stabilizing. The masked figure motioned to the right, aware of something off camera. The man in front of her looked nervous. Seconds passed and suddenly the man threw his hands up. The masked figure dove forward, seizing its target's neck and viciously twisting it, before letting its victim fall to the pavement.

The mask stood, its vision focused downward on the corpse before another person entered the shot.

Chris's blood began to boil.

Wesker carefully removed the mask from his companion, smoothing her hair down as it tumbled out of the contraption. He pointed to the dead man on the ground before stepping forward. He appeared to be accosting the woman. The frame jumped again. When it stabilized, Wesker was kissing her.

"We should have watched these tapes before. We - we didn't know…I'm so sorry."

"How many of these tapes were salvaged?"

Sheva looked startled. "I - I don't know."

"Don't fucking lie to me."

"Approximately sixteen hours worth."

"And they're all here?"

"Chris - "

He glowered at her.

"Yes, they've all been uploaded on the mainframe of this computer."

"Your work for the day is done. Find another assignment."

"Chris, I leave tomorrow to go back to Africa. I can't just leave these with you."

"I'll see to it the discs get to you."

"I don't think that's the best idea."

"I wasn't asking for your opinion on the matter; I was giving you an order."

She looked at him, hurt by his sudden usage of superiority. She grabbed her coat and her coffee cup and brushed by him as she left the room.

Chris locked the door behind her.

* * *

><p>Rebecca rubbed her eyes, tired of watching cells from behind the lens of a microscope. She had hit an indefinite wall in her research. Without having the woman Chris had rescued, she was hopeless. She hadn't received any new samples of the survivor's blood, and her progress was running on fumes.<p>

She needed answers.

Claire had started asking questions as soon as they had arrived at the BSAA facility. They were confined to one bunker room, so their beds were a few feet from each other at the end of the night.

If there was one thing Rebecca had learned about Claire, it was that she could be more persistent than Chris ever dreamed of being.

She didn't feel comfortable giving her the details of everything she was researching. The fact that Chris had kept a majority of the vague details about his trip to Kijuju from Claire was enough to make her want to steer clear from any conversation involving Africa, lest she cause Chris any trouble with his sibling. They were notorious for being overprotective of one another; a trait that would not soon change with their line of work.

"_At least they have someone who misses them."_

It was a selfish thought, one she regretted even though she had not voiced it to anyone. It was a seed that had been planted upon her graduation and her entry into S.T.A.R.S. Medical school had been all work and no play; no one had a social life, much less cared about dating. It was a race to the finish, and one she had won triumphantly. It prepared her for success, and landed her as a hand-picked recruit for Albert Wesker's pride and joy.

"_I should have double majored."_

She laughed to herself.

"I think you should stop working, Rebecca. You're going crazy."

Claire's voice startled Rebecca, causing her to knock into the microscope a little. The sample shifted on the tray, falling off the table and shattering on the floor.

Suddenly, she remembered why she had been fine alone all these years.

"I'm so sorry!"

Rebecca sighed. "It's okay, Claire."

"Is it hazardous?"

"If you're asking if we're about to cause Raccoon City part three, then no."

"Was it blood?"

"Yes."

"Infected blood?"

Rebecca suddenly saw where this was going, her mouth turning up into a smirk.

"Nice try, Claire."

The younger girl shook her head. "I'm sorry, Rebecca. It's just not like Chris to keep me in the dark about things."

"…really?"

Claire frowned. "I suppose history would suggest otherwise, but ever since Paris he's tried to keep me in the loop for the most part about the decisions he makes - if not only to keep me from tracking him down. Plus, working for TerraSave, I'm used to being the one with all the intel," Claire paused for a moment, watching the deepening frown on Rebecca's face. "Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?" Rebecca asked, sweeping the shards into a dustpan and dropping them into a blood-borne bag.

"Being part of a team. The S.T.A.R.S."

She could feel the weight on her chest at hearing the name. How could she answer that?

"Sometimes, I guess."

"I understand. I'm sorry if you feel like I'm prying, I've just noticed how sad you've seemed the last few days."

"Being locked up like this is giving me too much time to think about the past - things that can't be changed," Rebecca admitted, stripping off the latex gloves and discarding them with the bag.

"I think that's a curse we all carry with us."

Rebecca nodded solemnly at Claire's words. "It was different then. S.T.A.R.S. wasn't just a team…we were family, or at least it felt that way at the time. If things had been different…I would like to think we would all still be there today," she shook the nostalgia off. "But it's been ten years, who knows if we would even still be a unit, or still speaking to one another? It seems like a selfish thing to worry about."

"You don't wish you had chosen a different path? Chris told me you had several opportunities other than Wesker's offer. Why did you take the position?"

"Capt -…his offer sounded the most important. I spent my entire life locked up in a room studying how to make the world a better place. The other positions were glorified versions of that. Wesker presented the S.T.A.R.S. as an opportunity to make a difference, and told me that working in a government-funded police unit would also assist me in getting clearance in working at some of the most prestigious research facilities in the world. I was young and naïve, and I wanted to be considered _something_," Rebecca could hear the gears in Claire's head turning; diagnosing her with attention-craving issues and a self-loathing need to achieve. She was embarrassed she had said so much. "Be careful what you wish for, right?"

"I think you've done well for yourself."

Maybe the company wasn't such a bad thing.

* * *

><p>"<em>Do you pretend he's me?"<em>

_She was still, her eyes focusing on the smooth texture of the ceiling. A white spot was forming in her peripheral vision from where the dim bulb was angled at her face._

"_Answer me."_

"_No."_

"_No?"_

"_Not anymore."_

_He watched her mouth open and close, as if she wasn't finished explaining her answer, but her nervous system was willing herself to shut up. A total disconnect. He would have to work on that. He fastened the last button on his shirt._

"_Did it give you comfort to pretend it was him for a short while?"_

"_It made it easier."_

_His lips turned up in a satisfied smirk. _

"_If it made it easier, then why did you stop? Have you become adjusted now?"_

"_No."_

"_Then why did you stop, Ms. Valentine? I don't see what your incessant need is to torture yourself," he touched his hand to her face, cupping her cheek as she looked at up him with blank eyes. To an outsider, it looked like a comforting gesture._

"_Because you're not him, and you will never be him."_

_He snatched his hand away as if she had burned him._

* * *

><p>The ride was quiet. Chris hadn't spoken to anyone since he and Jill's return from their psych evaluations that morning. His jaw was set; his eyes a dark color. He was staring down at his BSAA issue combat boots, as if he was counting the ridges in the treading.<p>

Jill frowned.

She remembered fighting the night before, but not the details of what had been said. The medicine the psychiatrist had given her made her memories fuzzy when under the influence. All she wanted to do was sleep. It was all her mind operated around.

It was like being on the P30 again; a prisoner in her own skin. It was funny how things worked out.

Leon's cell phone rang. He slid his thumb over the side of the phone, silencing the ringtone quickly, as if he were embarrassed. He had been given his things back when they had arrived at the government checkpoint; his badge, gun, and phone. Jill had seen the change in Leon's face when they were given permission to continue toward BSAA headquarters. He looked tired.

The badge meant someone owned him; he was no longer a free agent now that the blackout was over.

Jill knew the feeling. The hole in her chest served as a less than subtle reminder.

The van lurched again, and Jill felt a wave of nausea overtake her. She placed her hand on her cheek, feeling the heat from her skin burning at her palm.

"Are you okay?" It was Leon who noticed her condition. Chris was still staring at those damn boots…

"I just need some water. That's all."

Leon fished around in his bag before producing a bottle of soda.

"It's probably flat, but here."

"Thanks," she swigged from the bottle, mentally willing the knot in her throat to go away. Before the feeling could dissipate, the van hit another bump. She was caught off guard and grabbed Chris's arm to steady herself.

He jerked his head up suddenly, and she felt the muscles underneath his shirt tense. She could feel him fighting the urge to recoil from her touch. He relented, looking back down at his boots rather than offering comfort.

She was alone.

_The car rumbled down the road. The hum of the highway barely audible over the CD Chris had dug out of his bag at their last stop for gas._

_Jill watched as he mouthed the words, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he mimicked Jimmy Paige's riff. Two songs into the disc, it had started to skip and wouldn't allow Chris to go to the next or previous song. The fourth round of "Black Dog" was nearing its end._

"_Take too long before I found out what people mean by down and out…"_

_Every now and then Chris would glance over at Jill and really put on a show when he saw her watching him and laughing._

"_All I ask for, all I pray; steady, lonely woman gonna come my way…"_

_They were surrounded by corn fields on either side of the vehicle. Jill wondered if Chris even knew where he was going. He had insisted upon purchasing a cheap map at a truck stop before they had started, refusing to spend their money on a GPS._

"_It's all the same. One shows it on a little screen and one shows it on paper," he had argued. "Besides, it's all up here, babe." He tapped his forehead._

"_That's all that's up there," she had sighed, tired of arguing. Their cash was running low, and they still had another 600 miles to go before they reached their destination. If their pitch for a new anti-bioterrorism organization didn't take, they were going to be broke and on the run again. It was their last shot, and money wasn't the only thing running low. No one was getting any younger, and their fight was dwindling._

_Chris drummed out the final beats in the song and reached over to restart it. Jill caught his hand, pushing the knob to the left to cut the sound off._

"_No more."_

_Chris sighed._

_Silence befell them and Jill closed her eyes, listening to Chris as he hummed out the tune to "All of My Love." Her hand found its way to his knee, which was tapping in time to his humming. She squeezed his thigh gently and his hand came down to rest on top of hers._

"_Who's gonna be my navigator?"_

"_I thought it was all up here?" Jill moved her hand up to his head, ruffling his hair._

"_I forget things."_

"_You don't forget things."_

"_But what if I do?"_

"_You'll find your way back," she murmured softly. "You always do."_

Maybe this time he had forgotten.

* * *

><p>Leon was the first out of the van, grateful to stretch his legs. He had never done well on long car rides. He was grateful he had never gotten the opportunity to be a beat cop; just the stories of hours spent in a car waiting to bust a criminal made his back stiffen. He liked to be on the move.<p>

The atmosphere of the van had been excruciatingly awkward. Jill had spent most of the time plagued with nausea, and Chris had done nothing to quell her anxiety. Leon attributed Jill's issues to the medication she had been placed on, but could find no excuse for Chris's eccentric behavior. He had returned from his psych evaluation acting a little left of center, leaving Leon to wonder if it was Chris they needed to be worried about rather than Jill.

A horde of uniformed soldiers sporting the BSAA emblem flanked the entrances to HQ; their guns were stationary, but ready to fire the moment something was amiss. Leon thought the whole thing was a tad on the dramatic side, but judging by the fact that he was alive, he wasn't going to question the amount of security detail issued for their arrival.

"Is Claire still here?"

Leon felt his pulse quicken at the name.

"I think so. Weiss didn't give much as far as details go."

"He never does."

Leon placed his hand on Chris's shoulder, stopping him from stepping forward. Leon could see Jill climbing out of the van over Chris's shoulder, the flush of her skin slowly returning to a darker shade of pale.

"Did you mention to Claire who you brought back from Africa?"

"Claire doesn't know I brought anyone back from Africa, but I'm sure Rebecca has told her a little bit about what she's been working on - "

"You didn't tell her _anything_?"

"I didn't know what to say about it. Do you have a problem, Kennedy?"

Leon could see Chris's temper flaring to the surface; he was more on edge than usual.

"I just think with them not knowing, it's probably going to be a little overwhelming for Jill. Does she even know?"

"She knows I haven't told anyone it was her I brought back. She didn't seem to care," Chris glanced over at Jill, averting his eyes back to Leon's quickly.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Leon snapped, irritated with Chris's nonchalance. Jill was vulnerable and alone, walking into a reunion with friends who had been witness to her burial. It was going to reopen more wounds than Leon cared to count.

"I suggest you change your tone," Chris muttered, removing Leon's hand from his shoulder. "Mind your fuckin' business for once."

"I'm just trying to get you to stop being so fucking illogical. You can't waltz in there with Jill on your arm like you're going to goddamn ball, Chris," Leon kept his voice low. Jill was watching them. It was evident she understood she was the topic of discussion.

"Good thing that wasn't really my plan of action to begin with."

Against his better judgment, Leon drew his arm back and let his fist connect with the side of Chris's temple. He immediately backed up, anticipating the retaliatory blows that were coming from his opponent. Chris lunged forward, clenching the fabric of Leon's jacket in one hand and punching him square in the jaw before shoving him to the ground. The guards rushed forward as Chris went in for another blow, and pulled him away from Leon.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" It was Jill who finally spoke. "What the hell is the matter with both of you?" The shakiness of her voice betrayed the anger she intended to inflect.

Chris looked away, staring at the entrance to the facility as Weiss exited.

"Let go of me," he growled. "That's an order."

The guards relinquished their grip, but kept a close proximity in case Chris decided to go for round two. Leon brushed his jacket off and touched his face, feeling the heat from the impact. No blood.

"Gentleman, I sincerely hope you do not think I plan to let you in here acting like children."

Chris was silent. His jaw clenched tightly.

Leon followed his lead.

Weiss approached Jill. "It's good to see you, Valentine."

His words were sincere, but as he leaned in for a casual hug, Jill almost tripped over herself backing away from him. Weiss was confused at her rejection, and Jill's pale face was blushing a bright red from her reaction.

"Sorry," she mumbled softly, holding herself awkwardly.

Sensing he had crossed a line with the former soldier, he dropped the subject.

"Have you two worked out your issues?" He pointed at Leon and Chris.

Neither responded.

"Very well, I'm going to allow you inside, but only because there's a couple of guests in here who might like to see you. I'll give you some time to recuperate from that drive, but after that…we need to discuss our plan of action following your emersion back into a normal life," he turned to face Chris. "And I need to discuss your abuse of power earlier today with Alomar."

Leon watched the interaction curiously as Chris scoffed, filing into the facility behind Weiss. He took a few steps forward before seeing Chris stop and turn to look for Jill.

Leon glanced back.

Jill stood frozen.

Alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Review please.<strong>


	9. Achilles

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Nine: Achilles**

"_Below the streets that steam and hiss, the devil's in his hole…"_

_Chris flicked the butt of his cigarette out of the cracked car window, his right hand immediately fishing another one out from the console. He balanced the wheel with his knee and cupped the tip of the cigarette so it would light._

"_Shit!" He swore as he hit a pot hole, the car's wheels gliding too far to the right and onto the unpaved shoulder. He corrected the vehicle's path, glancing around to see if anyone else on the road had seen his actions._

_The road was empty._

_His passenger's seat was empty._

_Trees were his only company._

_He sighed, pulling the visor down as his car rounded a curve and brought him directly into the sight of the rising sun._

_He was headed straight for it; tempting fate like Icarus._

"_The shackles of commitment fell, in pieces on the ground…"_

_The line began to repeat obnoxiously. Chris slammed his palm against the face of the stereo, the CD ejecting shortly after. He threw the disc out of the window, glancing in his rearview as he watched it hit pavement and bounce into the grass._

_No more._

Cigarette smoke.

The smell nearly choked Claire as she clung to Chris's sweater, blinking back tears of joy that threatened to fall. She hadn't realized how much she had missed her brother until he was in front of her, sheepishly opening his arms for a casual hug, as if he was returning home from a vacation.

Leon entered the room second, rubbing his jaw and nodding at Claire from afar. He was waiting for his chance with her; he knew better than to interrupt Chris. Claire pulled away, examining the various injuries littering Chris's face. He would downplay them to her later, blame them on his own carelessness.

They both knew he was far from clumsy.

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too."

Chris pulled away from her embrace, turning to Rebecca who blushed furiously as he pulled her in for a hug.

Leon cleared his throat.

It was then that Claire noticed the fresh bruise Leon was sporting on the side of his face. She looked back at Chris, her brain piecing the act of foolishness together. Before Claire could venture toward him, Leon put his hands up to stop her.

"There's someone else with us."

Rebecca felt Chris's body stiffen as he ended their reunion abruptly and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"She's getting checked out by the on-base doctors. Just some casual tests, but uh…" Chris trailed off.

"The girl you rescued?" Rebecca felt the surge of anxiety sweep through her body. Maybe her work could continue…

"Hold on. What the hell is going on here? Leon, why does it look like you've been mugged?" She glared at Leon first, then turned to Chris. "And why did you decide to ignore the fact that there was someone else in Africa?"

Neither looked her in the eye.

"I don't think that's important right now," Chris mumbled in response. "I'll explain a lot of things later, okay?"

"Well, who is she? Was she working for Tricell?"

"Not exactly."

"A missing person? I can let TerraSave know her name. We can search the listings and get in touch with her family."

"Claire, that won't be necessary," Chris was fumbling over his words. Claire was on a roll now, there was no stopping her.

She was going to be pissed.

"Oh, that's right, because TerraSave already knows. Am I right? Because somehow you even have control over what they tell me even though _it's my job_."

"It's not like that, Claire."

Rebecca shuffled toward Leon and shook her head.

"I guess it's because I didn't have siblings, but I just would have thought this moment would have been a little more sentimental," Rebecca whispered.

"It's Jill."

"…what?"

"Jill. Jill Valentine is the girl you've been running your tests on; the girl Chris has been keeping a secret."

Rebecca turned to face Leon. "What the hell are you - " She was infuriated that Leon, almost a stranger to her, had the nerve to suggest something so impossible.

"It's Jill! She never died. Wesker took her prisoner, he healed her, and Chris found her in Africa and brought her back," Leon folded his arms over his chest, staring Chris down. He realized afterward how simple his summary had made the entire ordeal sound. If only.

"Is this some kind of a joke?" Claire's voice was small.

When Chris didn't respond, Rebecca felt the lump in her throat begin.

"_The lacrimal gland is responsible for producing reflexive tears…"_

"Chris?"

"He's telling the truth."

"Why would you keep this from me?" Rebecca could barely hear Claire's voice.

"_May she rest in peace…"_

"Because there's a lot more to the story than just a fucking search and rescue. I was trying to find the right time…the right words."

"You've known about this for weeks!"

"I tried to fucking tell you before I left, Claire. I showed you the picture."

"_Tears produced while crying contain a unique chemical composition…"_

"Don't you dare try and throw that in my face! Of course I thought you were crazy! It's been _two years_, Chris. She fell out of a fucking window with that bastard."

"_They never found her body."_

"The picture was sent to me from TerraSave - from _your fucking job_."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that?" Claire's voice was cracking. She had no idea how to handle what had been thrown on the table.

"_Mom and dad aren't coming back."_

Death was nothing new; life was completely unfathomable.

"Where is she?" Rebecca finally garnered the courage to speak.

"She's with doctors. She's on some pretty strong anti-anxiety medication right now due to…everything."

"_She was being pumped full of fertility drugs."_

"I need to sit down."

Rebecca felt Leon's hands on her back, guiding her into a chair. When had the lights gotten so fucking bright?

"Are you okay? Do you need water?"

"It adapted to her chromosomes perfectly. I've never seen a virus meld with someone's genetic make up so easily…"

"Rebecca, speak up. We can't understand you."

Claire's hand rubbing her back.

Chris circling; hovering like a bird with a broken wing.

Leon filling a discarded cup with water from the bathroom sink.

Black.

Inhale.

He waited for the smoke to burn until he released it through his nose, only parting his lips to suck more from the cigarette. It was number three.

"Rebecca's fine, by the way," the voice like nails on a chalkboard.

"Claire told me already. She just got a little overwhelmed is all."

"Aren't you going to go back in there?"

"It would seem that this medical facility has a lot of flammable materials around. I'd prefer to not blow us all up if I don't have to," Chris turned his head, blowing the plume of smoke directly into Leon's face. The accompanying flinch was less than satisfying.

"Claire wants to see Jill."

"They both want to see Jill," Chris corrected.

"What are you going to do about that?" Leon's tone was challenging, asking for round two.

"I'm going to go find Jill and ask her if she feels up to it," he snuffed the cigarette under his boot, grinding it into the rocks like he had wanted to do to Leon's face.

"Something happened at that appointment this morning."

"A lot of things happened at that appointment, _Agent _Kennedy."

"Cut the shit, Chris. Whatever it was fucked up something in that tiny little brain of yours - "

Chris grabbed Leon by the collar, shoving him into the outside wall of the facility. He leaned in, close enough for Leon to smell the nicotine and feel Chris's pulse in his grip.

"I fuckin' saw something while Jill was in her appointment. It's none of your goddamn business what it was, _rookie_."

The door swung open, and suddenly Claire was in sight.

"Rebecca's asking for - hey!"

Chris resigned his grip on Leon, backing away and putting his hands up.

"_Seriously_? You two are so fucking concerned with pissing all over each other that neither one of you can act like a decent human being for two seconds! You can't just show up here out of the blue and drop a bomb like this, and then refuse to handle the situation. Go back to wherever the hell you were before this."

Cigarette number four.

Jill pulled at the drawstrings to the BSAA-issue track pants. They were the smallest size, and were still draping loosely over her hips.

She couldn't remember the last time she enjoyed a meal.

She dug through the duffle bag of her things Chris had packed for her, looking for a shirt she would feel comfortable in. Everything was meant to fit her. She wanted something that would hide her dwindling frame and her scar.

Something to cover up her sins.

She found a black hoodie with the BSAA emblem shoved into the bottom of the bag and pulled it over her. It was clearly intended to fit Chris, and hung midway down to her thighs. She glanced up in the mirror, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ears.

Property of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance.

"_What a joke."_

She sat back down on the loft bed, and pulled her knees up to her chest. The doctor had left, telling her he would find Chris and let him know that she was ready to join everyone else.

"_Ready to assimilate back into society and play well with all the other children…"_

She had no idea how she was supposed to react to Claire and Rebecca; finding her bearings around Chris was hard enough. Jill rubbed her eyes, feeling the side effects of the medication starting to react. If anything was going to induce an attack, it would be facing two of her closest friends from before. Especially considering the fact that Rebecca had been dealing with Jill's medical records extensively. If anything, the girl knew more about what had happened to her than Jill did.

Rebecca was brilliant; a diamond emerging shyly from the ashes of Spencer. Jill knew Rebecca was self-conscious of her tactical skills in the field, and it only made her work that much harder when it came to the virology work Chris had finally persuaded her to head for the BSAA.

"_I don't want anyone handling this but her, Jill. She knows the importance of this, and if anyone can find a cure for this shit, Rebecca can find it in her sleep."_

It was her failure to do so that would be enough to drive Rebecca to become obsessed with anything Chris laid in front of her. Jill's blood work was probably slowly driving her insane.

_Knock. Knock._

Jill was startled, afraid to answer the beckon. She wondered if her voice would be recognizable after all this time.

"It's just me."

Of course it would, she would know Chris's even if a century had passed.

"Hold on," she mumbled, stalling for enough time to wrap the hoodie around her securely. "Okay."

He came in, averting his eyes until he heard no protest. Her heart broke a little a more.

"I just wanted to make sure everything went okay with the check up?"

"Still human, if that's what you mean."

Chris nodded. "Rebecca's asking to see you."

"She hasn't seen enough of me?"

"Cute."

"What does she know, Chris?" Jill's tone changed from vindictive to serious.

He shrugged. It infuriated her.

"I have a right to know what I'm walking into. This is just as hard for me as it is for them. What the hell is your problem today?" She watched his jaw clench, and wondered what it was he was holding back from her.

"You need to ask her about it. I'm not really brushed up on my biology." He was using sarcasm as his means to be evasive. Which question did he want to avoid more?

"I gotta go talk to Weiss soon. You're either ready to come down or you're not."

"It's not that simple! I was _dead_."

"No, you weren't. You were alive and now you're home."

"Chris, you buried me - _I _buried me."

"And I found you. Did you not want that, Jill? Would you have rather stayed there with _him_?"

She hesitated, something familiar registering from his tone. Jealousy? Fear?

Before she could respond, another knock struck the door.

"Yeah?"

Jill stepped back, away from the door.

"Oh my God…"

"You had no right to exercise your power in that manner."

"Sorry. Won't happen again."

Weiss arched an eyebrow, looking at Chris with a sternness only emulated by someone with years of experience dealing with insubordinate behavior.

Chris was familiar with the look.

"You need to take this seriously, Captain Redfield," he said the words, as if the title were a threat; a reminder that it was impermanent.

"I've got a lot on my mind." Chris leaned back, slouching into the chair and radiating apathy.

"Which is exactly why I'm recommending you take another leave."

His body stiffened. "_What_?"

"You're in no condition to act in a role requiring leadership, Redfield. I'm going to give you six weeks' leave - "

"I just led the most substantial and successful mission the BSAA has seen since…" he trailed off, trying to formulate an example that wouldn't turn his stomach into knots.

"Since the Spencer incident? Because I don't quite recall that being successful, Chris." The formality had dropped and his voice had softened. Chris despised it.

"I brought back one of the BSAA's most valuable resources, and exposed Tricell's role in the bio-weapon industry. How does that not mean anything to you?"

"It doesn't mean anything to me because you're talking about Jill as if she's some no-name face. I remember when she died, and I know exactly how you were. You threw yourself into your work until I was forced to make you take sabbatical or take a severance package. But you never spoke about her as if she was some honored soldier who went missing in action. She was more than that to you, just as she was to this organization."

"Frankly, this is not any of your business."

"No? Because the oath that you took to protect this world upon being sworn in depends on your stability and your capability in carrying out what is required of you. If something is impeding upon that, such as what you saw on those tapes - "

Chris slammed his fist down.

"Don't go there."

"Six weeks, Chris. Your job is secured, and so is Jill's if she so chooses to resume a position with us. It would be understandable if she didn't."

"You mean if she would rather side with evil than good?"

The question hung in the air.

Jill pulled her ear away from the door.

**Author's Note: Thank you for the continued reviews!**


	10. Home

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Ten: Home**

Claire watched as the cell phone on the table vibrated endlessly; the messages she had received during her time spent in blackout flooding the device as it was turned back on.

It was weird to be reconnected to society. Living on the run was an acquired taste; one stint of normalcy and she had forgotten how to readjust.

"You okay? You look like you've - "

"Do not finish that with 'seen a ghost,' please."

Leon smirked, setting the vending machine can down on the table in front of her. "I was going to say that you look like you've had enough for one day." He popped the can open and pushed a straw through the hole.

"You remembered."

"I remembered," he mocked. Claire hated drinking soda without a straw. It was one of many quirks he had learned through their impromptu rendezvous.

She nodded, picking the can up but not drinking from it. Her eyes were bleary from her reunion with Jill, and probably from the late hour.

"How was she?"

"She was quiet, and different. Sad, almost. I don't know, Leon. I've seen a lot of fucked up shit since everything started, but I never dreamed of anything like this." She took a sip of the cola, trying to mask the cracks in her voice. "I wished for this every single day they were searching those waters for her. I wished for it even after the rescue mission was called off and they pronounced her dead."

"We all did. It wasn't fair to lose someone that way."

"I almost think I would have rather lost her than for her to endure what she did. I can't fathom being prisoner of…_him _for so long." Just as the acts she had watched him commit on that island had been unspeakable, so was his name.

Leon frowned, wondering if Claire knew the whole truth yet.

"She didn't even cry."

"She's probably in shock."

"I know, but she just looks like she's in so much pain. I don't even want to think about what he did to her. If Chris ever learns the truth, he'll go insane."

Apparently not.

"Yeah, I think that's probably the understatement of the year."

Silence befell them. Claire sipped, Leon tapped his foot.

"What time is it anyway?"

"12:32." Leon didn't think she really cared what time it was. Claire could never stand quiet. "We could leave, you know. They gave us the affirmative earlier."

The suggestion hung there, tempting fate.

Claire bit her lip. It wasn't appropriate. Chris had yet to return from his discussion with a band of higher-ups who had made it a point to come to the BSAA facility, to discuss further precautions and the risk of backlash from other bioterrorism units. Jill was still in an examination room with Rebecca. TerraSave had scheduled a briefing with her at 7 AM to catch her up on what she had missed.

It would be entirely irresponsible to leave.

"Let's go."

* * *

><p>Rebecca pulled the needle from Jill's arm, watching in her peripheral for any twinge of pain. She was stoic, unrelenting to the pinch if she felt one.<p>

"That should be enough. I can run to the vending machine and get you a candy bar if you feel faint," Rebecca murmured. Jill's weight had dropped significantly from the last physical that she had been delivered from Chris, and the amount of blood she had just taken from Jill was likely to make a nourished person feel queasy.

"I'm okay."

Rebecca gave a curt nod, willing her hands to stop shaking as she deposited the vial alongside the others. Her eyes were bleary from the tears that she couldn't seem to suppress, and it was giving her a headache as she matched the tiny font on the labels to their respective places. Jill's presence was entirely overwhelming.

"I'm sorry that we're doing this. This isn't exactly what I imagined for this moment to be like."

"You imagined this moment?" Their eyes met.

"For a while, yeah," Rebecca mumbled shyly, feeling the heat reach her cheeks. Why was she so embarrassed? Of course she had wanted Jill to be alive, even if it defied logic and science and every gut instinct. "You didn't think about this?"

"I did…for a while." Jill spoke slowly, thinking carefully about how she phrased her words. "I guess I just gave up. Between the chemicals and the time, it wasn't worth holding on anymore."

Rebecca felt the sting her eyes worsening. She was too empathetic; a flaw that was dangerous in the world she found herself living in.

"I'm sorry." It was a weak response, one she didn't even know why she gave. She had nothing to apologize for. She hadn't been the one who held Jill captive. She wasn't the one with the God complex.

But she had given up on the possibility of Jill's return. She had told Chris his pursuit was foolish, just in nicer words. But he had known.

The sinking feeling in her chest was unbearable.

"Becs? You okay?"

_She shook the hand from her shoulder, quickly smearing the tears across her cheeks with the back of her hand before she whirled around._

"_Huh?"_

"_I asked if you were okay." Jill's expression was soft, concerned. She felt even more humiliated._

"_I'm great. I just - I…"_

_Jill folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side as she shook her head, her dark hair falling loosely out from under the beret. "It's just you and me Becs, no guys around. No Captain."_

"_He hates me!" The words came out strangled and pathetic. Rebecca brought her hands up to her eyes, shielding her tears from the woman standing in front of her._

"_He doesn't hate you. He's an arrogant prick that thinks he knows everything. You graduated from med school at 18. How could you even think his words have any substance?"_

"_You heard him! He said I was a hindrance to this team. He said I would end more lives than I would save."_

_Jill put her hands on either side of Rebecca's shoulders, forcing her to look at her._

"_It was your first scrimmage. It's a lot to deal with. He wouldn't have hired you if he thought you didn't belong here."_

"_I've never heard him talk to anyone like that," Rebecca sniffled, rifling through her bag for tissues._

_Jill laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "I've seen him reduce grown men to tears, Becs. You're not the odd one out."_

_Rebecca sighed. She wasn't used to failing. She wasn't used to competition of this nature. She was interested in the science of things, not ballistics and the strategy behind the capture of criminals; armed criminals at that. Biology didn't require being a team player._

"_Thanks, Jill."_

"_For what?"_

"_For making me feel like a part of this team."_

"Not to be morbid, but I think I'm supposed to be the one staring into space and refusing to talk."

"What?" Rebecca shook the past from her head, trying to separate the memories from the present.

"I asked if you were okay?"

Rebecca nodded. "I was just thinking about something. It's not important."

"How have you been?"

Rebecca sank down into her chair, shaking her head. "I've been okay. I work for the CDC now."

"You're no longer with the BSAA?"

"I left after…"

"I see." Jill fought the urge to push further, the curiosity toward the reality she was living in now flooding her brain unwillingly.

Change was difficult, and Jill imagined that change post-mortem/post-resurrection was near impossible to cope with.

Rebecca seemed to sense Jill's hesitation. "Claire's pretty high up in TerraSave now. She oversees what intel gets transmitted to the BSAA. Leon still does his cloak and dagger thing with the government. Chris…"

Their eyes locked. Rebecca swallowed, wondering how much she should tell Jill about Chris's indiscretions in the past two years.

"I guess you can just talk to him about it, really."

It was a cop out, but it was a cop out Jill was thankful for. She wasn't ready to hear an outsider's view on what self-destructive behaviors Chris had become friends with in her absence.

Like everyone else, Jill wanted to believe in the lie.

* * *

><p>Claire giggled as Leon forced the motel key into the door. The off-white key tag dangled from his hands as he swung the door open, revealing a room that had not been re-decorated since the mid-1970s. The carpet was a mixture of orange and brown, which only accentuated the army green curtains and olive walls.<p>

She had seen some bad motel rooms in her life on the run, but this had to be in the top five.

"I could've gotten us something nicer."

"How morbid would it be if I said this feels more like home than anything?"

"Pretty fuckin' morbid," Leon chuckled, shaking the hair from his eyes as he threw his jacket over the back of a chair. "I'm gonna go grab our bags. Maybe I've got some plastic wrap or something in the car. We can either wrap the bed in it or wrap our bodies in it. Your pick."

"Okay, princess."

Claire sat down on the edge of the bed, slipping the flats from her feet and digging her toes into the shag carpeting she hoped had at least been vacuumed recently. She rifled in her pocket for her cell phone, checking to see if Chris had left an accosting voicemail. She felt a need to call him, to ask him for just this night of peace before they had to deal with the gravity of the situation ahead.

"We got company." Leon's voice was muffled by the door as he struggled with the duffle bags in his hands.

Claire arched an eyebrow and padded across the room, peeking her head out in the direction Leon had motioned toward.

The BSAA logo reflected underneath the street light, two officers nodding their heads as if they were doing her a favor.

She rolled her eyes, shutting the door and locking it. She knew it was for their own good, but she was tired of every move being scrutinized.

"I guess it won't be long before Chris figures out where you are."

"Yeah…" Claire was unsure of what to say. The guilt she felt for stranding her brother with his problems was almost unbearable, but she had learned to draw a line a long time ago. He would spill blood for her and she for him, but there was more to the world than just their kinship; their family had grown, and sometimes she needed more than her big brother to cope with the way things were.

"Do you want to go back?" Leon sat down on the bed, brushing the hair from his eyes as he watched for Claire's honest reaction.

She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, tossing it to the floor.

"I don't think there is any going back."

* * *

><p>Chris carried himself up the stairs to the lab, his boots slamming against the stairs as if they were made from concrete. The noise echoed throughout the stairwell, reminding him of places he would rather not be.<p>

The door to the lab Rebecca used was ajar, and he could hear voices filtering down the hall.

"That was the night Joe got so wasted he tried to take home that woman and her husband ended up being the bartender."

Laughter.

"Chris and Forest had to haul him out of there and the whole time he just kept yelling "I am an officer of the law!" Oh, it was classic."

Chris stopped, hesitant to interrupt the fading memory.

"That was my first night out with you guys - my first night at a bar _ever_. I remember being so petrified that I was going to get in trouble for being underage even though I had a badge."

Jill laughed and Chris felt the pain hit his heart; the sound awakening parts he had buried long before. He drummed his knuckles against the cracked door before he pushed his way into the room. Jill's smile faltered as she saw him.

"Sorry to interrupt…it seems my sister has disappeared with Kennedy, so I wandered up here."

Rebecca pulled a chair out and patted it, checking her watch as she did so. "I didn't realize it was so late!"

"Where are you headed?" Jill asked, keeping her eyes focused away from Chris.

"I may just stay here tonight. I need to get my things together and figure out when I can catch the next flight out."

Jill felt confusion and then a pang of loneliness as she remembered Rebecca no longer belonged with the BSAA. Time had moved forward and so had everything else.

"You can crash with us. My apartment is only a half hour or so from here."

"What?" Jill spoke before she could catch herself and she met Chris's eyes.

"My apartment…" His voice faltered.

Some things hadn't changed.

Jill felt a surge of panic rush through her and she fought to remain lucid and calm. They had found that apartment together, had made it a place to come home to. A piece of her former life remained.

"Jill, are you okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine. I - I think I just still feel faint from when you took those samples." Her voice was shaky. She watched Chris figure out the lie before she had even finished her response.

"I'll go grab you a candy bar or something." Rebecca took off, nurturing as ever.

Chris leaned forward from his seat, touching Jill's knee. He felt the muscles in her legs tense and he pulled away. She could feel her cheeks scorching red as she suppressed a shiver.

"I can't believe you still live there."

"What was I supposed to do? Move?"

"I don't know."

"We picked it out together."

"I wasn't there."

"You're _everywhere_ in that place, Jill."

She could feel the emotion he was burying in his voice. He tried to sound stern, like he was giving an order and had no need to explain himself, but she could hear it bleeding through. His _need_. He had clung to the apartment as she had held on to the hope that he would come back for her - except he had never let go.

She had accepted her fate and a life with Wesker, but Chris _had_ come for her; to bring her back to a life he had kept preserved for her.

Jill thought of fairy tales and how she had been horrified to learn of their gruesome origins as a teenager. Now, she understood.

Rebecca came back, handing her an assortment of chocolate bars. "I wasn't sure which one you wanted…"

The innocence and genuine concern in Rebecca's voice was enough to swallow Jill whole. She accepted the bar with a shaky hand, holding it as Rebecca sat back down. She chewed her lip, hoping it would split and bleed so she could feel anything other than cared for.

_Missed._

She heard Chris assuring Rebecca she was no burden and she could stay with him for as long as she needed. Jill noticed he was careful to speak only for himself and not on her behalf. Then they were moving, gathering Rebecca's things to leave for Chris's apartment.

Their apartment.

_Home._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! Computer troubles.<strong>


	11. Hollow

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Eleven: Hollow**

Claire rolled over, felt out the empty space beside her, and groaned at the idea of opening her eyes. Her body told her it was early - _too _early, which meant she was probably already running late for her meeting with TerraSave.

"Great."

Her frustration with her morning was cut short when she heard fumbling outside door. Panic gripped her as she rolled out of bed in a frantic search for her discarded holster.

"Rise and - " Leon stopped short, holding two styrofoam cups in each hand and balancing a paper bag underneath his arm. "…Shine?"

Claire let out a sigh of relief and lowered her gun, trying to steady her heartbeat. "You scared the hell out of me."

"I noticed," Leon chuckled. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to even the score."

Claire shoved him and sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. The aroma of coffee was overwhelming and she nearly snatched the cup from Leon's hand.

"So did working for the government program you to wake up at 5 AM?"

"Your brother calling about fifteen times did," he tossed her phone at the bed. "Besides, it's a good thing I did since you weren't going to get up any time soon."

Claire checked her call screen, erasing the multitude of notifications. "I have like ten minutes before I need to leave for that meeting. I wonder if I can get one of those guards to give me a ride."

"Why can't I just give you a ride?"

Claire set her empty cup down, groping through the bed for her bra. "I figured you had to get back to D.C., it's not a big deal."

"I have some free time."

She noticed the tone in his voice had gone from light to serious very quickly. A talk was impending, one she wasn't ready to have. She grabbed her jeans and shrugged in response as she headed toward the bathroom.

"I'll be ready in five."

* * *

><p>The rain had started shortly before they had gotten permission to leave. Chris had been signing out a car and joking casually with the attendant, his laughter stopping short every time he met Jill's vacant eyes. She had been huddled close to a wall, silently nodding as Rebecca made small talk about her work at the CDC, when the noise started. It was quiet at first, like a static-filled radio in another room. Slowly, the noise became louder and louder, drowning out Rebecca's voice.<p>

_The rain was deafening. She had barely noticed it until they had burst into that room, coming face to face with Wesker's triumph over Spencer's corpse. It was only then that the noise had become so unbearable that she could only see Wesker's lips moving as his grip tightened on Chris's throat. She could see the sheer terror in Chris's face, not of death, but for her safety. If he died, there would be no one to protect her._

_But who was protecting him?_

_She only heard the rain as she pounded across the floor. Everything was a blur. Thunder or impact?_

"_Keep your knees bent and your hips low. Lead with your shoulder, Valentine!" The advice of Barry Burton, former football player, during sparring. It was strange what the brain could remember under duress._

_Her shoulder made contact first and she pushed with her knees, wrapping her arms and legs beneath his body as they surged forward. She gasped for breath when his elbow met her diaphragm._

_The icy rain dug into her bare skin. Blood._

_The rushing of water and wind._

_Safety. For Chris._

Jill startled when she felt Rebecca's hand on her back, silently comforting her. What had given her away?

"You look like you need some rest," she spoke softly, positioning herself between Jill and Chris's line of vision.

Jill wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, stifling the sob in her throat.

"I remember."

"Remember what?"

"That night."

Silence.

"The night I died."

* * *

><p>"Benzodiazepines at that dosage generally make it pretty difficult to stay lucid."<p>

Chris averted his gaze from his rearview and re-focused it on the road. Jill had asked for her medication before the car ride had even started, and Rebecca had obliged fairly quickly. He knew he should have pried for a glimpse of what was happening, but he couldn't. He already felt suffocated by his own baggage, the weight of everyone else would bury him.

"With what she's been through, it's probably for the best."

He felt his jaw clench at the euphemism. He'd almost forgotten what Rebecca knew.

"Chris."

He turned his head a fraction of an inch as she rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"This has to be killing you."

"That's a nice choice of words there."

"I'm sorry."

He pulled his hand off the wheel and clasped his hand over hers, squeezing it gently in reassurance.

"I'll be fine, Becs. Nothing to worry about."

"I think we all know that's a load of bullshit."

"I don't have a choice. She threw herself out of a goddamn window to save my life, and you want me to just not be okay with what happened in the meantime?"

She didn't have an answer for that.

Chris pulled off into the apartment complex, rolling the windows down as he dug for his ID badge for entry. He checked the rearview; Jill was still sleeping and the caravan of guards was still following. The line of cars pulled in, surrounding Chris as he parked in front of his apartment building.

_Their _building.

He shut the car off.

"I'll get the luggage, you stay down here with Jill until they've given us the clear."

Rebecca nodded quietly, with no reason to object. She waited until Chris was out of sight, and turned around to shake Jill gently.

"Huh?"

"We're here."

Jill forced her eyes open, willing the world to stop spinning.

* * *

><p>"<em>Do you honestly think he cares for you?"<em>

_Jill averted her eyes to the floor, studying the designs in the tiles. Red on white. Umbrella. Blood of slaughtered lambs._

"_Oh, darling, you can't speak without permission can you? How unfortunate. Maybe that's why he spends his time with you. You can't challenge him." Excella sat down next to Jill, tapping her well-manicured nailed against the table. _

"_Money."_

"_What?"_

"_He wants your money. You're a brand to him. You act as if I'm the only pawn in this game." The life in her voice was gone. Even she was surprised at how monotonous she sounded._

_Excella's hand met her face, slapping the indignation out of her. It was nothing compared to Wesker's fists. If she could have laughed, she would have. _

"_You can't even give him what he wants."_

_A new race. No, she had yet to conceive._

_Excella leaned in, her expensive perfume invading Jill's senses. She could smell the trepidation on her. The tremors of Excella's insecurity flowed through Jill's blood._

"_He only keeps you around because he knows who is looking for you. He knows he'll come."_

_Jill grit her teeth, willing her body to respond physically._

"_The look on his face when he figures out how the princess has fallen. When your only order is to tear his heart out," Excella paused. "I'll be sure to let him know which position was your favorite with Wesker. You put on quite the show for the cameras last night. Tell me, is it the same with Chris?"_

_In a flash, Excella was ripped from her seat and forced into a standing position. Wesker's grip on her hair unrelenting._

"_Get out of here."_

_Excella stumbled from the room. Jill could smell the salt in her tears._

"_Thank you."_

"_That was for my benefit, Ms. Valentine, not yours. I haven't the time for distractions."_

* * *

><p>Leon thumbed through the paper for the fifth time, propping his feet on Claire's desk as he waited. They had plans to have breakfast once the briefing was over. He wanted to tell her he was planning on sticking around for a while, but she seemed all too eager for him to leave.<p>

Claire Redfield was a conundrum.

His phone vibrated and he let his feet fall from the desk and sit up straight, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. His squinted at the number in an attempt to recognize the area code.

"Kennedy."

There was a burst of static from the other end. Leon pulled the phone away from his ear, listening to the resounding noise for a few more seconds before he ended the call.

_Previous Incoming Call Time: 00:07_

Not enough time for a tracer to work.

He shook his head at his paranoia, thumb hovering over his contact list. It could have easily been a wrong number. Leon frowned, tapping his thumb against the screen.

"Ross, it's Kennedy. I need you to run a check on a number for me. I'm going to forward you over the call information."

Considering his track record, nothing was ever that simple.

"Thanks."

He ended the call as Claire tumbled into her office with coffee in one hand and a binder full of folders in the other. She looked frazzled and surprised to see him.

"Hey! You didn't have to wait around. I could have called you when I was through and met you."

Leon smiled. "I didn't have much else to do. How did everything go?"

"Oh, you know, try to destroy one pharmaceutical conglomerate dealing in bio-warfare and a hundred copycats pop up in a bidding war to replace them."

"I wouldn't be too hard on yourself."

Claire arched an eyebrow.

"Really, we've destroyed more than just _one_ pharmaceutical conglomerate dealing in bio-warfare."

"_We_? You think because you're sitting in _my _chair, you get to share some of _my _glory?"

Leon shrugged.

"Get up. The only thing _you_ are doing is buying me waffles." She flung the binder onto her desk, mentally resigning herself from work for at least the next few hours.

He stood, shoving his phone into his jacket as he felt it vibrate with an answer on his mysterious caller. Leon paused, momentarily debating checking the response.

"Are you coming? I'm a busy girl, you know." Claire peeked back into her office, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He pulled his hands from his pocket. "Just making sure I had my wallet."

He, too, could put work on hold.

* * *

><p>Chris tossed his cell phone onto his nightstand. Claire wasn't answering his calls.<p>

"Kennedy."

He threw his leather jacket across the end of the bed and surveyed the room, arching an eyebrow at how clean it was. He had left it in a total mess. Claire had clearly done more than check up on the place in his absence.

_Knock. Knock._

Chris glanced up into the open doorway, nodding at Rebecca to come in.

"She's on the couch. She isn't really up to talking about sleeping arrangements."

"She can have my bed and you can take the spare room. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Are you sure about all of this?"

"It's not like I haven't slept on the couch before. Jill did live with me." The joke fell flat. "I don't know what else to do. I hardly think this is the appropriate hour to discuss where we go from here." He paused, hesitant on admitting his thoughts. "I don't even know if she knows who she is right now."

Rebecca sat down on the edge of Chris's bed. "You're probably right, Chris, but does that mean we have to accept that? That she has to accept that?"

"Accept what?"

Their eyes turned toward Jill, who stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. Her posture demanded answers.

"My bed," Chris replied.

Their eyes met, blue hitting brown like a fresh bruise. He was lying, but she was too tired to deal with the truth.

"Where are you going to be most comfortable?" Rebecca interjected, diffusing the situation for both Chris and Jill.

"I'll be alright on the couch." The words felt foreign as they left her mouth.

"_I'm sleeping with Chris in our bed. What kind of question is that?"_

"Just take the bed in here. Rebecca is going to be in the guest room. I'll stay on the couch."

There was no chivalry, only desperation.

"Whatever works."

Chris nodded, leaving with Rebecca to make sure the guest room was still in decent condition to be slept in. Jill sat down on the bed, brushing her hands over the comforter. Her pale hands stuck out against the grey coloring and simple pattern. He had purchased new bedding in her absence. She wondered if he had wanted to forget.

"_Alright, fine. You can pick out the sheets and all that shit, but I'm not sleeping on some paisley pattern."_

"_Do I even look like the kind of person who enjoys paisley?"_

"_I don't know. We've never picked things out together," Chris defended, pushing the cart down the aisles and assessing the list Jill had made. _

"_All these years and we've never officially lived together."_

"We took it for granted."

Jill pulled herself from the memory, glancing up at Chris's voice.

"What?"

He raised a towel in his hand, silently informing her he was taking a shower before he disappeared into the bathroom without another word. She waited a few moments to ensure he wouldn't be exiting the bathroom any time soon, and then turned the lights on to survey what else had changed about the room.

There were no pictures on the wall or on any of the dressers. She had made sure there were old family photos and pictures of the old S.T.A.R.S. team to honor their fallen comrades when they initially decorated, but nothing remained. Instead, the photos had been replaced by stacks of CDs and DVDs and manila folders embossed with the BSAA emblem.

She began pulling open the drawers in the dresser that used to be hers.

Empty.

It started with the familiar pang in her stomach; a feeling of burning and unbearable emptiness. By the time she had made it to the closet to throw the door open and find nothing but his clothes hanging, the cry in the hollow of her throat had garnered enough force to spill out in the form of a choking sob.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Again, sorry for the delay. I appreciate all the reviews. I do intend to finish the story. Chapters just don't come as quickly as they used to. Thank you.<strong>


	12. Skeletons

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Twelve: Skeletons**

"_What do you feel like tonight? We haven't had Chinese in a few days." He thumbed through the take out menus in the drawer, finding them much more useful than the Bibles he had found in the last few motels. "I'm really tired of pizza. Maybe wings?" He reclined back on the bed, propping himself up using a pillow pressed against the headboard as he continued to unfold the local brochures. _

_The bathroom door opened, releasing a wall of sticky heat. Jill stepped out, toweling her hair as Chris continued to throw out suggestions._

"_Get your boots off the bed."_

"_My boots have probably seen cleaner places than this bed, babe," he mumbled, stretching languidly as he kicked his boots off using his feet. _

_She watched him as he leaned back against the headboard, raising his hips off the bed to retrieve a menu that had slid beneath his frame._

_She began to chew on her bottom lip, watching his mouth move as he continued to read from the menu. Jill didn't care about food. She cared that they had been driving for nearly a week straight and the closer they got to their destination, the more anxious she became._

_Her body was in knots; her mind in overdrive._

"_This place has ribs."_

_Jill tossed her towel on floor, leaving it draped over his discarded boots._

"_I could go for ribs."_

_She climbed on the bed._

"_I'm sick of all this fast food shit, you know?"_

_She snatched the menu from his hands as she straddled him._

"_Shut up."_

_His mouth opened in protest, but snapped shut as his brain caught up with what was happening. One palm flattened against his chest as the other met the headboard to steady herself as she kissed him with as much force as she could muster. He responded, his hands moving around to settle on her hips and squeeze against her flesh every time she rocked against him ever so slightly._

_He could feel the need in her kiss growing more urgent, but there was something else brewing beneath it; a layer of anger and resentment swelling and blistering underneath the lust. _

_Fear?_

_He broke away from her kiss, pressing his lips to her collarbone and continuing downward. One hand grabbed his hair, pulling him roughly to face her as she kissed him again. She was in no mood to follow his rules._

_It was then that he felt the trembling in her lips; her confidence receding until he could feel the wet salt on his cheeks. She paused, leaning her head down to avoid his eyes, to hide a truth Chris knew far too well._

_Her hand left his chest, nails making purchase against his flesh as she descended toward his jeans. Chris remained still; breath steady and fighting the urge to take control of the situation to show her that he got it._

_Sometimes reality was too much to bear._

* * *

><p>Chris flattened his palm against the bathroom tile, bracing himself under the spray of warm water. The memory hit him hard. It made him crave affection - her affection.<p>

He could feel his skin begin to heat. The water was becoming unbearable. Two years had passed, but Chris could remember exactly how Jill felt.

He turned the knob to cold.

It wasn't fair for him to want anything from her. She could barely look at him, much less stand anything resembling physical contact, and he wasn't even sure where he stood on the subject.

"_I'm not the monster you need me to be."_

He had said it out of anger at that night, but he was beginning to wonder how much truth had been repressed in the statement. Maybe she no longer had a thing for justice. He couldn't blame her; good was no longer attractive to him either.

Maybe it was the villain that got her going these days.

Chris slammed his hand against the nozzle, cutting off the stream of water. The noise in the bathroom fizzled out. He threw back the curtain, straining to breathe in the residual steam. He ran a hand through his hair and wrapped a towel tightly around his waist, purposefully ignoring the blurred reflection peeking through the condensation in the bathroom mirror.

As he pulled open the bathroom door, he was met with a glassy glare.

"Jill?" He met her eyes for a second, before surveying the rest of the room. Every drawer was opened and disheveled with papers scattered everywhere. Instinct told him to find his gun.

"What the fuck is this?" She was angry, but her voice was weak from the crying and it betrayed the venom she meant to inflect in the question.

"What the fuck is what?"

"_This_! There's nothing left of me here!"

Chris set his jaw. "Keep your fucking voice down, Jill. Rebecca is only a few feet away."

"I don't care, Chris! Where are my things?" She strode to his dresser, picking up a file and flinging its contents to the ground. "Where are my pictures? Huh, Chris?" She continued her path of rage, flinging open the closet door so hard that it fell from its track and scraped paint from the wall. "My clothes?" He watched as she flung his civilian clothes and their attached hangers to the ground, scrambling to find any item that belonged to her.

She stopped her tirade, quietly sobbing as she watched Chris calmly pick up the hangers and clothes and hang them back in their place. When he stooped to the ground to pick up the mess she had left of his paperwork, she flung herself at him.

He stepped back against the wall in time to catch his balance, holding his towel with one hand and blocking her slaps with the other.

"Where am I, Chris? _Where_?" Her voice was desperate, and her hits were weak against his flesh.

"You're home," he whispered quietly.

Her open palm met his face. Hard.

"This is not my home. These are not my things."

Chris stepped forward and she moved quickly out of his way. His eyes were dark and she was suddenly well aware of his size in comparison to hers.

"_This is it. He's coming for you."_

Her body tensed, even as he walked to the other side of the room. She watched him kneel to the ground, and for a second she thought he was praying and the sight was suddenly that of sacrilege. His head bowed and one arm disappeared beneath the bed, dragging something out.

It was a wooden ammo crate with _Kendo Gun Shop _stenciled on the side.

* * *

><p>"Leon, it's me. Look, Ryan got a trace on that number you sent over…you need to give us a call as soon as you can. I know you're spending time with your friends, but this is…well, just give us a call."<p>

Hunnigan sounded serious and sympathetic. He deleted the voicemail.

"Who was that?" Claire asked, toothbrush hanging from her mouth.

"The President," Leon kept his face stoic, enjoying the balking reaction from Claire. "I'm kidding."

Claire threw her hands up in what Leon assumed was a vulgar reaction and disappeared back into the bathroom.

"Are you going back to work?"

Claire tapped her cell phone screen, checking the time. "Yes…I'm currently two hours late from my lunch break, thanks to you."

"Workaholic."

Claire scoffed. "Mind giving me a ride back to the office?"

"That'll cost you extra, working girl," Leon smiled, watching her giggle as she gathered her belongings. When she reached for her duffle bags, his expression faltered. "You need all those clothes for a couple more hours of work?"

"No, I need all these clothes to fill the gaping hole in my closet," Claire paused when she saw the confusion on Leon's face. "I do have an apartment to get back to."

"I know…I know that. I just didn't know you were getting back to it so soon."

"Well yeah," Claire stood in front of him, hooking her hands into the belt loops of his slacks. "Don't you have a fancy job to get back to? Fight the bad guys? Bring the President his coffee?"

"I do."

"Okay then," she stood on her tip toes, pressing her lips to his. "Let's get on the road. You can't keep your country waiting!"

Leon nodded, watching as Claire led the way to his car.

He felt like he'd always be watching her walk away.

* * *

><p>Stinging.<p>

Rebecca's eyes felt like they were on fire. She was tired of reading and tired of thinking, but she had been out of pocket for weeks and her email was flooded.

Articles of that might be of interest. Medical advancements. Journal subscriptions up for renewal. Memos from work. Her mom.

Him.

She held the cursor over the empty subject line, finger poised to double click.

She hadn't heard from him in months, and she had learned the longer it was between conversations, the more complicated things became. He never stayed in one place, and months off the grid gave him time to discover another rumor. Some feasible, some not.

New companies with new viruses intended to make new weapons that would cause a new plague - a new evil - to fight; all just a few of the things she had asked him not to talk to her about two years ago. But he knew they stayed there, nesting in the back of her mind. A new job didn't mean a new life.

Men like Billy Coen didn't just let you forget.

She slammed her laptop shut. It was too early to call her mom.

Sudoku it was.

* * *

><p>"What is this?"<p>

Chris didn't answer her, but rather moved to his dresser and pulled clothes out. He exchanged his towel for a pair of shorts and walked to his bed, before sitting down on the edge.

Jill stood firm, afraid to even look at the ammo crate. She averted her gaze back to Chris.

He had now reclined back in the bed with his arms behind his head, casually tapping his feet as if he hadn't just unearthed a relic from their past.

She moved forward and knelt down, fingers running over the smooth wood. Her thumb slipped beneath the edge, releasing the grooves that held the wood together; it was just like she had been stuck unloading a new shipment to replenish inventory in the weapons locker at the RPD. Pine and gunpowder.

Photos of her and Chris and the old team were stacked in the box, the ones in frames wrapped neatly in sales ads from the weekly paper to avoid damage. She pulled out a folder and flipped through its contents, skimming the headlines detailing the on-going search for her body until she reached her obituary and the original BSAA mission briefing on Oswell Spencer and their objective to bring Wesker in.

Letters from Dick Valentine. Her old S.T.A.R.S. issue Beretta 9mm. The beret. The bar tab she had kept from their first official date (Chris had forgotten his wallet at the station and she had to pay). His old leather-bound journal the guys teased him for keeing. Her BSAA contract papers. A copy of her life insurance policy with Chris listed as the benefactor. Her will.

Certificate of death.

She shut the box.

Chris's feet had stopped tapping.

"I couldn't stand it. There was paper work to fill out and decisions to be made and instructions to follow per your will. And then it was all over, Jill. It was done and you were gone and they even mailed me a pretty little piece of paper to seal the deal. They made it official that you were in the ground. Except you weren't."

"I wasn't." It was the only reply she could muster.

"And I kept searching and looking for anything I could. And I drank. I drank a lot and I smashed some photos and then had to buy new frames, and then I smashed them all over again. I had to lock you away," Chris paused, swallowing. His throat was swelling and his sinuses were burning. He was suddenly fourteen years old and his parents weren't coming back. "I tried to make it without you. I tried to fucking hold it together, but do you know how fuckin' hard it is to lead a team when you have absolutely no reason to fight anymore and your own sister is looking at you like she's making plans to put you away?" He was unloading and Jill wondered if this is what his four therapists heard. "So yeah, I put you in a box. Again. Because it was more than I had to say goodbye to the first time."

She closed her eyes against his admissions, suddenly understanding why Rebecca had purposefully neglected to mention Chris in casual conversation. A headache was forming, threatening to blossom into a fresh migraine; side effects from fighting medicated sleep and crying.

"And I get it, okay? I get that you weren't dead and that there's this whole load of shit that you've gone through and come out of, and that I can't just expect everything to go back to how it was. I know I'm supposed to be patient and sympathetic or some bullshit, but I'm just so fuckin' angry, Jill."

She chanced opening her eyes. He was forcing composure.

"This wasn't the way it was supposed to go."

"You think I don't know that? I threw myself out of a fucking window, Chris. I expected that to be the end of it. I didn't expect to have to make good on an IOU to Wesker for my life."

Chris flinched at the name coming from her lips. Thoughts he'd been trying not to entertain flooded into his brain.

"_When else has she said that name?"_

He shook his head, flattening his palms against the sides of his head to block out the images from the video.

Jill leaned away from the box, sitting down and hugging her knees close to her chest. Dr. Pearce would expect her to say whatever she was feeling without worrying about the consequences.

"I knew you were alive the whole time, Chris…that was the only thing that I could even stand to think about at the beginning of it. I kept telling myself it didn't matter what happened because as far you knew, I was dead, and you weren't, and that was how it was _supposed _to be. Then time got foggy and I gave up, because I couldn't keep pretending that the things I was doing weren't happening. It all happened. It wasn't some stupid nightmare. I wasn't in a coma for two years. I was a fucking killing machine, Chris. I was one of those _things _we saw in that stupid mansion that night, except I was _better_."

"No."

"_Yes_, Chris. I trained, and I killed, and I fought for him. I did everything he asked me to and more. Just like when he was our leader."

"He was _never _our leader, Jill. He was a fuckin' mad scientist with a badge."

"Oh, cut the shit, Chris! How many trophies did you win for that man?" She spat furiously, sick of his excuses. "Don't act as if you won those competitions out of pure interest in bettering your resume. You've never given a shit about titles in your life. He planted the seed in your head the day he told you that you would never have the self control to win. You had to prove him wrong out of spite and out of the _need _to have his approval."

Chris clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together to keep from screaming at her to shut up. She was right. He had done plenty to stay on Wesker's radar; he had pushed himself physically and mentally just to know Wesker was keeping an eye on him during training.

He had spent over a decade trying to rectify that mistake.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This is a bit quicker than normal, huh? Hopefully the next chapter will come out just as fast! I think I might actually be getting my footing here, but we'll see. I think I've lost a few readers along the way due to the waits on chapters, so I appreciate all of you who are continuing to review. I hope this did not disappoint! Thank you.<strong>


	13. Spilled Milk

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Thirteen: Spilled Milk**

_Clink_.

Chris lazily twirled the glass in his hand, letting the stagnant bourbon swirl over the ice. His father used to drink whiskey on the rocks. He wondered if he was living out some self-fulfilling prophecy. Like father, like son.

"_Guess I have about a year left then. Huh, pop?"_

He snorted at the morbidity of the thought. Fate would never be kind of enough to let him go so easily.

The glass met his lips and he swallowed the liquid, welcoming the burn that followed. At least he could always count on that.

He reclined back in the chair, shifting his gaze to the part in the curtains. The sky was brightening from black to grey, evidence of rain streaking the window panes.

It had been almost fifteen years since he had gone to visit his parents' graves. Claire had gone enough for the both of them. She kept the flowers fresh.

_Boom!_

The walls rattled and Chris gripped his glass tighter to keep from dropping it. He heard the familiar _pop _of the power surging.

"Son of a bitch."

A bedroom door swung open.

He drained the rest of his glass.

"Chris?" Rebecca's voice was soft over the noise of the monsoon raging outside the apartment.

He grabbed a blanket and threw it over his bare shoulders, nodding as he made his way toward the kitchen counter. He popped the top off the old bottle. "Got enough left for two."

It took her a moment to realize it was an offer rather than a statement.

"Oh…uh, no thank you. It's kind of early."

Chris shrugged and made his way back to the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

"How's Jill?"

"Asleep." His voice was muffled in the glass.

"I heard you guys talking," she bit her lip, chiding herself. "I mean, I didn't _hear _-"

"It's fine, Becs. We didn't exactly keep the conversation quiet. Sorry if we woke you up." His voice was low and rough, like his vocal chords had been weighed down by the whiskey.

She didn't have the guts to press further, and she wished she had never even left the bedroom.

"Have you been to bed yet?" She felt her cheeks go red at how utterly lame the question was.

"Not yet," he raised his glass to her. "Trying to calm my nerves, and we were out of milk."

"That's actually a myth," the words came out before she could stop herself. Chris stared at her curiously. "The warm milk. It's actually a psychological association with the routine that makes you tired."

"Really?"

"Well, the jury's still out. It's an ongoing debate."

"Over milk?" Chris shook his head and took another sip. "I bet you wish you were researching that and not Progenitor, or whatever the hell else we're on to these days. Gettin' hard to keep track."

Rebecca nodded.

"What's keeping you from sleep?" Chris set the empty glass down, but made no move to finish off the bottle.

"Just a lot to process from the last few weeks…from last night," she watched Chris meet her gaze and then turn his head to glance at the bedroom door Jill was behind, like she was a secret he was still trying desperately to keep. "It's hard to think about."

Chris leaned forward and rubbed his hands over his face. He hadn't shaved in almost a week and the stubble was beginning to itch.

"Come back."

"What?"

"Come back to the BSAA."

"Chris, I -"

He snapped his head up to focus in on Rebecca's face. His ears were hot from the whiskey.

"She needs you, Bec. She needs someone who can understand this. I can't just send her in to some stranger and let them poke and prod and rattle off things that are wrong with her. She can't handle that right now," he paused, weighing his options. "And neither can I."

Rebecca's gaze fell to the floor and she remained quiet, moving toward the couch to sit down next to Chris. Her chest felt heavy.

"Okay."

"What?"

"I'll take my job back."

"You didn't take much convincing there, Ms. Chambers."

She let out the sob she had been holding in ever since Jill Valentine had come back into her life. Chris looked stunned, and a little drunk. She almost laughed at his expression - so serious and somber for the last two years - twisted into a horrified and confused look. She put her hand up to assure him she was fine, but it did nothing to quell the concern crossing his face.

"Do you need me to get you something?"

"I just feel so responsible," she choked out, grimacing at how childish she sounded. "When Jill died, I couldn't stand it anymore. It was just like being there that night all over again and watching everyone getting killed, and I realized that I'm just as useless now as I was then."

"Rebecca -"

"No, Chris. I took off running as soon as it happened. You guys stayed. You've all _stayed _no matter what. You brought Jill back to life, and I was in a lab burying myself in work convinced you had lost your mind! Testing that milk theory would have been more useful than what I was doing."

Chris shook his head, pulling his arm toward her and hugging her. It felt awkward consoling her. He had never been good with emotions. When Claire cried, his sole instinct was to punch the first male on her recently called list rather than offer sound advice.

Chris Redfield worked better with actions.

"For the record, I had lost my mind. Even if I hadn't gotten that photo from TerraSave or Jill hadn't been the woman in the photo, I still would have gone," his voice was rigid with honesty. He stiffened as Rebecca cried harder into the blanket around his torso. Jill was the one who always handled the emotional situations, and this was a skill he had yet to learn in her absence. "You did what you had to do to cope, just like everyone else."

Rebecca leaned back, away from Chris. He sat up straight and stared at her; eyes bleary and cheeks flushed from crying, she looked just as she did the night Jill died. At least from what he could remember before she shot up him up with the highest dose of tranquilizer the BSAA would approve. Another coping mechanism.

"I want to do what I can to help Jill and the BSAA…and you." She meant for it to sound firm, like she was announcing a title for herself. Her voice cracked instead.

"We can talk more about this later. I'll get you in touch with Weiss in the morning," he paused, realizing it had to be close to 7 am. "Or, uh…later this afternoon."

Rebecca nodded, standing to head for the guest bedroom. Her mom would be awake by now, cooking breakfast and packing a lunch for her father to take to work.

"You're a good girl, Rebecca."

He didn't know what else to say, but Rebecca smiled at him before shutting the door.

Chris sighed, glancing over at the bottle on the counter. Only enough left for one glass, better to save it for a rainy day.

He watched the water streak down the window as he poured.

* * *

><p>"Kennedy."<p>

"Leon! I've been trying to get in touch with you for hours." It was Hunnigan, with no formality. She waited for him to respond. He didn't. "That call you sent in…it came from a throw away phone."

"Figures."

"Yeah, but the serial number on the phone traced back to the inventory of an electronics store roughly four miles from where you're standing."

Leon tensed, watching members of TerraSave bustle in and out of the stone building.

"How long ago?"

"Five days ago at 2:38 pm."

"Paid for in cash?"

"Obviously."

"Shit."

"We're looking at tapping into surveillance cameras. We should have something by the end of today," Hunnigan paused, leveling her tone. "I assume I will be able to reach you?"

"Yeah."

"Have a good day, Leon."

He pocketed his phone and grabbed the newspaper he had cast down beside him to read; the weight of his holster heavy against his rib cage.

* * *

><p>Jill pushed the bedroom door open softly, peaking out into the small hallway that housed entry to the bedrooms and guest bath. The door to the utility breaker was ugly against the smooth walls. There had been a photo over it before; a print of something she thought was pretty. It hadn't been in the box.<p>

She had no idea what time it was. The clock on the nightstand had been flashing, signaling the power had gone out at some point and the time needed to be reset. The apartment was dark, but it was raining out.

Memories of rainy days in the dark apartment with Chris burrowed beneath her skin.

She moved swiftly passed the closed door to the guest bedroom, and by the time she consciously thought to keep quiet, she realized she had already carried herself into the living room. Quick and nimble. In for the kill.

Weeks of detox yet her body still remained prisoner to a trained killer.

Chris was sprawled on the couch with his head flat against the arm, blanket covering his legs and waist; his feet and bare chest exposed to the frigid air of the apartment. She used to kid him about operating at a higher temperature than normal people because he kept the thermostat at 65 degrees no matter the season.

"_You're a freak of nature, I swear. Some kind of creature from the equator or the sun or something."_

_Words mumbled into his neck after they had made love, her body chilled after the loss of friction and contact._

"_Is that so?"_

_Arms wrapped around her to pull her closer, skin free of goosebumps and radiating heat. _

Wesker's skin was always cold. Side effects of reanimation. Of immortality. Even tangled underneath him in his expensive foreign sheets she had never felt warmth. She realized after a few weeks it was because she, too, was cold.

She wrapped Chris's hoodie tighter around her frame and sat down on the coffee table, careful to avoid his empty glass.

Even in alcohol-induced sleep, he looked in pain. His face was stern, covered in stubble and aging nicks and bruises. He looked ready to wake at any second and blow someone's brains out.

She needed to know how destructive he had been in her absence; to himself and to everyone he had come in contact with. She wondered what his therapists had told him and if he had heeded any of their advice. Had it been the alcohol that took the edge off? Or a prescription for anti-depressants? Both?

Most of all, she wondered if there had been someone else. Another woman.

"_You're so selfish, keeping all of his attention focused on you. He was supposed to be using that precious blood of yours to further our work. Instead, he wastes his time on some sick vendetta against your pathetic boyfriend."_ _Excella's voice was curt and sniping as they sat across from each other at the dining room table, an empty seat at the head of the table remained between them._

"_At least Albert is immortal. Once he wisens up, he'll still have something to look forward to." She sounded like she was reassuring herself. Jill wanted to point it out, embarrass her. Her mouth remained shut._

"_Chris seems to be more focused on killing himself than starting a life without you. Are you the kind of girl that finds that romantic, Jill?"_

_She clutched her fork, fingers too weak to lift it from the plate._

"_You seem like that kind of girl. I can show him to you."_

_Jill leveled her eyes at Excella's. They were bright and gleaming with satisfaction._

"_Wesker has cameras on all of them. He's been watching you for years. Just say the words and I'll show them to you. You can see your friends. You can see Chris."_

_Excella's laughter hurt, all the way down to the bone._

Jill brought the sleeve of the hoodie up to her face, wiping the tears that fell in succession. Her cheeks stung from the cold and the fabric.

Unconscious, Chris was at his most vulnerable. She could avoid the emotions and the anticipation of his reactions to her. She didn't have to deal with his touch or his looks; the ones that silently spoke of how much he still loved her, and the ones that begged her for answers.

She started with his arm, trailing her fingers lightly over the skin of his of his wrist to the crease of his elbow, until she reached his bicep. Here he was: flesh and bone and muscle and sinew; passed out on a couch with an empty bottle of whiskey nearby, with Jill sneaking glances and grazes.

It was just like all those years ago, when she would crash at his apartment and they would fool around and pretend like their co-workers had no idea - just with a few foiled apocalypses and a multitude of near-death experiences beneath their belts.

They were seasoned veterans of a world gone mad.

"_And you can't even face him."_

The thought hurt. She wanted nothing more than to burrow into him and beg him to wrap his arms around her like it was a normal rainy day, but she feared her skin was still cold and inhuman. She pulled her hand away, fingers reluctantly leaving the warmth of his skin and running nervously through her hair.

Chris shifted, turning on the couch so that his back was to her and his face was pressed deeper into the cushions. She swallowed nervously, wishing he had left some of the whiskey for her.

Jill leaned forward, clutching at the thin blanket tangled around Chris's legs, and pulled it out from under him. She rose from her perch on the coffee table and straightened out the cover, draping it over his body as she slowly sat down on the couch with him. She snaked her legs in, careful to avoid contact, and rolled so that she was facing his back. She smoothed out the blanket, folding it in between their bodies so that her skin did not meet his. She was scared of waking him and scared of stealing his warmth away.

She rested her head on her hands and sighed with relief at his still sleeping form, clinging to the hope that she would wake before he did and slip quietly into their bedroom as if nothing had happened. She knew the chances of this were slim to none and that conversation upon his awakening would be inevitable.

Jill closed her eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews last chapter! It seems I have surpassed 100, which is always stellar to see. I hope this chapter did not disappoint. Please continue to read and review.<strong>


	14. Would?

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Fourteen: Would?**

"Take a right up here at this light."

"I remember."

"Just making sure. It's been a while."

"A few months."

"It's been longer than a few months."

The words hung in the air between them. Leon was sure the comment was meant as a dig, but he shrugged it off. The vibe between them had shifted as soon as he had told her of the mysterious caller and their nearby proximity.

He sighed, making the turn a little too hard out of anger. He mumbled an apology as Claire pressed her hand to the ceiling of the car to keep from shifting and cast him an annoyed glare. The entrance to her apartment loomed ahead, and he couldn't think of any good reason to stay.

"I don't need your secret service guardian bullshit, Leon. I've got enough watchdogs as it is with my brother and the BSAA."

"I didn't mean it like that, Claire. I just thought maybe -"

"Maybe what? That you'd call Chris and let him know there _might_ be a _potential_ situation? You don't think he has enough on his plate right now with Jill?"

Leon slammed his car into park, palm hitting the steering wheel out of anger.

"Goddamnit! Do you think that everything is just okay now that Jill is back? Do you think that all these assholes in the world are just going to crawl under a rock and quit selling this shit because Wesker is dead? I've got news for you, Claire, it's never going to be fucking over," his words were rushed and strained. He was furious with her for taking the situation so lightly. She knew better. "I don't care who your brother brings back from the dead, we still have a job to do."

Her arms were folded across her chest tightly, as if she was trying to keep her heart from pounding through her ribcage. He had never raised his voice to her before.

"I don't need your protection. I've been just fine without you," she spoke slowly. Twisting the knife deeper.

She watched as he inhaled, preparing a retort, and then hesitated. His shoulders deflated and he pressed the unlock button on his door.

There was so much finality in the sound of the electronic lock that Claire found herself glued to the leather of the town car.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes you did, Claire."

"Alright fine. I did mean it like that, but that doesn't mean you get to run off playing the victim just because I hurt your feelings."

"You're avoiding the situation."

"No, I just don't think there is a situation."

"Claire, someone tried to break into the apartment you were holed up in and now I'm getting phone calls from a blocked number on a phone that was bought down the street -"

"You got one phone call, Kennedy. You have no proof that any of this is connected to the break in. That was almost two weeks ago! You don't think something would have happened by now if it were going to?" Claire reached for the handle, grabbing her bags from the backseat and slamming the door. When Leon made no move to follow her toward her building, she turned her head. "Are you coming up or not?"

It was a good a reason as any.

* * *

><p>Chris opened his eyes slowly, focusing in on the dark leather of the couch. His ears felt clogged and his head felt heavy, like the impending migraine was daring him to make a move before it started its throbbing behind his eyes.<p>

The apartment was still dark. Quiet rumbles of thunder and quick flashes of lightning signaled the storm had yet to move on.

_"Fitting."_

He started to roll over, in an effort to get up and acquiesce his need to pee.

And then he felt her.

Her knees were pressed against the back of his legs and an arm was clutching his bicep loosely. His body went rigid, in fear of waking her.

But she shifted suddenly, uncovering herself and rising from the couch. Chris turned over, quicker than his body liked, and he felt the pain surge into his head as he grabbed her wrist.

Jill froze, and Chris could feel the muscles in her arm tensing as she wrestled the urge to rip herself from his grip. When she didn't make a move, he loosened his fingers, inadvertently tracing patterns against the skin of her inner wrist.

_"Your vitals are showing remarkable improvement since your last reaction to the upped dosage." He wrote things down as he spoke, never glancing up. Jill thought of her childhood pediatrician, and how he would drone on and on before sticking her with a needle and calling it a day._

_She doubted Wesker was going to give her a piece of candy for not crying._

_"I've made some adjustments to the formula. Your body won't try to reject it the next time you develop a tolerance and you need more." Wesker formed the words slowly, like he was having a hard time explaining things in words she would understand._

_She willed herself to jerk away when his hands touched her thigh, but of course, her body betrayed her. The worst part wasn't the touching; it was the familiarity - smooth skin free of callus._

_"I can sense your pulse better than these machines. I like to make sure things are accurate." He slid his hands up further, pressing down firmly._

_After a few moments, he placed his fingers on the inside of her wrist. His touch was gentler here, and it was terrifying; like being in the eye of the storm._

_"Is everything okay?" Excella's voice came over the intercom, and Jill could feel Wesker's grip tighten._

_"She's alive," he responded, before clicking the switch on the receiver to off._

_Irony at its finest._

Jill tried to bury the sudden recollection, focusing on the roughness of Chris's hand to reassure herself of where she was. She looked down at him, studying his face. He looked even more exhausted awake than he had asleep. The circles around his eyes were more visible now than ever before, and she could see tiny sprinkles of grey forming at his temples.

Her time spent in cryostasis had erased the toll years of fighting had taken on her. The visibility of Chris's physical wear made the rejuvenation feel more like a curse than a blessing.

"Are you hungry? I can make us breakfast...or lunch. I don't really know what time it is."

"I'm okay."

He furrowed his brow, trying to recall the last time she had eaten. She wriggled her arm free from his grip and sat down on the table across from him.

"Did you need to eat there?" The question tumbled so suddenly from his lips that he bit down on the inside of his cheek, cursing himself for breaching their unspoken ritual of don't ask, don't tell.

Jill's eyes locked on his. She could see the fear in them, like he was waiting on her to make a move. She wondered if he had a gun stowed away under the cushion.

"Sometimes." It was brief. She didn't want to mention that a majority of the time her meals were fed through IVs and that edible dinners were only a pleasantry when Wesker was rationing supplies.

Chris nodded, sitting up slowly. She watched him shut his eyes to the pain of what she assumed was a hangover.

"Is this how you spend your time now?" She motioned at the empty bottle beside her.

"Sometimes." She cringed at his mocking. "I'm sure Claire and Rebecca have had plenty to say about me."

Before Jill could respond, the door to the guest room swung open.

"I'm sorry to interrupt...Chris, Claire's trying to get in touch with you. She says it's important."

Chris stood, accepting the phone from Rebecca and grabbing his cigarettes as he left to take the call from the apartment's balcony patio.

Jill eyed him warily and then focused on Rebecca, who took a seat where Chris had been.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Drained. I feel like I have zero energy."

"The medicine combined with the withdrawals of the P30 can do that to you. Have you eaten?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat. You're underweight and your body has practically no reserve fat to feed energy from. That's probably another reason you're so tired. Do you want take out? There's a Chinese restaurant around the corner and -"

"I used to - I live here," Jill felt queasy at the correction.

Rebecca stopped rambling, offering a weak smile in apology.

* * *

><p>"Fine, call him."<p>

"I'm not calling him, Claire, he's your brother. He's probably worried sick about you anyway. You haven't spoken to him since we left the compound."

Claire rolled onto her side, watching Leon carefully. He always looked so worried and determined, like he was in the middle of saving the world at all times.

It wasn't far from the truth.

"I still don't think either of these things are connected. If anything, it's some dumbass trying to get a statement from the press and they don't want the BSAA or the President tracking them down."

"Why would they call me, Claire? I had nothing to do with Kijuju."

She sighed. "I don't know, Leon. Maybe to get to me to get to Chris?"

"I just think we should be careful. Your brother just killed one of the most prominent figures in the B.O.W. industry. That's gotta have some repercussions. Come on, Claire, you've seen the intel. Wesker is practically worshipped by those fucks dealing in the industry. He's practically a goddamn martyr now."

Claire grimaced at his words. She had seen the reports TerraSave had compiled at the request of the BSAA. Copy cats and underground dealers, all with some sort of attachment or praise in regards to Albert Wesker. She remembered Rockfort. She never forgot the pain, or the terrified look Chris wore in the months following after seeing Wesker resurrected.

"Hey, where'd you go?" Leon cupped her cheek, trying to bring her focus back on him.

"I'm right here." The room was dim. She hoped he couldn't see the lies on her face.

"He needs to know. He doesn't have to worry about it, I've got people on it."

"Telling Chris not to worry and hand over control to someone else is literally the most useless idea in the whole world." She pushed his hair out of his eyes, laughing softly.

"I'll tell him, if you really don't want to."

"No, I'll do it," she sighed. "For your protection. I think the term kill the messenger spawns from situations like these."

"I thought that was more for when you tell your brother you're sleeping with a government agent."

She glared at him as she dialed.

* * *

><p>Jill was about to tell Rebecca to go ahead and call in a takeout order to appease everyone when Chris barreled through the back door and slammed it shut behind him.<p>

He reeked of cigarettes, and the wild look in his eyes sent her back a decade into the past.

"Everything okay?" Rebecca asked, clutching the takeout menu tightly and thinking of Billy's email.

"Yeah." It was a very blatant _no_, but she didn't push and Jill didn't bother to call him out, but rather looked away sadly. "Are you ordering food?"

"I can't remember the last time I ate and I figured everyone else was in the same boat. I thought I'd get some takeout for everyone. Does the Chinese place down the street deliver?"

"They charge a ridiculous convenience fee for it. I'll go grab it. It's not a big deal."

"In this weather?"

"It's slacked off."

Chris headed into the bedroom to change clothes and Rebecca began spouting off familiar orders into the phone. It gave Jill an overwhelming sense of deja vu, and she moved to curl up under the blanket Chris had abandoned. When Rebecca was finished, she took a seat at the other end of the sofa at Jill's feet.

"I was going to compliment you on your incredible memory for knowing those orders, but I realized...with as much as we ordered takeout in Raccoon, you'd have to be an amnesiac to not know."

"I always had to do the ordering. Always."

"We all did that stint. Forest and Frost's own personal hazing."

Jill felt the smile creeping across her face; it was foreign and painful. It was cathartic.

"You don't know hazing. You were a girl, they had to go easy on you." Chris shrugged his bomber jacket over his shoulders. Jill could see the outline of the holster beneath the worn leather.

He left quickly, locking the door behind him.

"He's not telling the truth."

"You caught that, too?" Rebecca mumbled softly, pulling her knees into her chest. She was a worrier, which meant her automatic assumption ended at the worst possible outcome. She was like her mother in that respect, and she wondered how her father dealt with the two of them without losing his mind. After Raccoon, her degree of worst possible outcome escalated to an entirely new level of bad.

"What was he like while I was gone?" Jill wanted to focus on one obstacle at a time.

Rebecca's cheeks turned red, and Jill silently begged her not to lie. "He was...he was a wreck, Jill. I don't know that I should be talking to you -"

"Please." The word came out strangled and weak. "You and Chris and the rest of the BSAA and their therapists and doctors know I was doing these...terrible things. The least you can do is tell me what happened here."

Rebecca stared into Jill's pleading eyes. She'd never seen her that vulnerable. Jill was fiercely relentless, never buckling to pain of the physical or emotional kind. Rebecca was like a window, fragile and transparent. She had always envied Jill's stoic face during their confrontations with Chief Irons, often times standing behind her or Chris silently supporting them in her mind, without the courage to talk.

But she was no longer 18 years old and Jill and Chris couldn't shield her forever.

"He was ordered to go on grievance leave and see a therapist. After his first visit, they prescribed him anti-depressants and sleeping aids. Obviously he was told to take it easy, but he drank...he drank a lot, Jill. Claire called me begging for me to do something, so I called Barry figuring if he would listen to anyone it would be him. He said a lot of harsh things to him about that night at Spencer...about betraying us. Barry was pretty pissed to say the least, but more so about how he was handling the situation. He told Chris if anything he should be motivated to fight harder since you died for him," she paused, gauging Jill's reaction. She was stone faced. "Claire was offered a job working for TerraSave's European branch, and she basically told him she was going to take it to get away from him. She told him he was the only thing she had left, but she'd rather get away from him if he was going to dishonor what you did for him."

"And that snapped him out of it?"

"I guess. I had already taken my job with the CDC at this point, but Barry called me to tell me Chris had apologized to him and that he was going back to work for the BSAA. He wanted to be in the field again. I only saw him right before he left for Kijuju. He flew down to visit me and to show me a picture from the base. He told me he was going to find you, and I didn't believe him." She spoke softly, whispering to the priest on the other side of the confessional.

"Sometimes, I wish he hadn't believed it either."

There it was, hanging in the air. She had said it to Chris out of anger and to Dr. Pearce out of compliance. It was said to Rebecca out of honesty.

"I don't mean that in some crazy, Stockholm Syndrome or PTSD psycho-babble whatever way. I just think it would have been easier for him."

"Easier for him or for you?" Rebecca's voice was terse, and the question caught Jill off guard.

"Both of us, I think."

"I don't think he would have ever stopped suffering, Jill."

"He would have moved on."

"Would you?"

_Touche._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I'm sorry for the obnoxiously long delay. I have a new laptop and with it, a new motivation to write. This chapter is mostly filler and dialogue driven, but it's necessary. I'm actually entirely displeased with how it turned out, but after a few different rewrites, I decided to just put it out here since you guys deserved something after a month's plus of waiting. Thanks for the continued support. I'm working on getting this finished before RE6 releases...hopefully. Please review!<strong>


	15. Yes or No

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Fifteen: Yes or No**

"I got a call from Weiss while I was out. He wanted to know if you would come in sometime within the next few days to fill out paperwork."

Rebecca looked up, startled and watched as Chris shoveled sesame chicken and fried rice into his mouth. "The next few days? What about my things? My notice to the CDC?"

"I'm sure he can help you take care of that...if you still want to do this."

"I do, I just didn't realize it would be happening so fast. I can meet him tomorrow morning."

"Send him an email. He's not much of a phone person." Chris shrugged, taking a sip of his beer and setting it down on the table.

Rebecca knew that wasn't true. In her time spent with the BSAA, a running joke in the office was about call duration when it came to a conversation with Weiss.

_"The guy probably makes millions per year and all he does is sit around on the phone."_

_"Good thing they cover our cell service then."_

It was Chris who hated phone calls.

"What about me?"

They were the first words Jill had spoken since she had asked for more duck sauce when they had first sat down to eat.

"We're on leave. Weiss recommended I take a six week leave and he extended the same to you. If you need longer or your physical says you should have more time, I'm sure he'll give it to you. Your position was never filled," Chris swigged from the beer again. "Assuming you want to rejoin."

She couldn't even fathom making that decision at the moment. Jill Valentine was a dedicated soldier willing to risk her life to save the lives of people who would probably never even be willing to understand the truth behind the last ten years of fighting. But could she be that same person after working to end the world for over two years?

She took a drink of Chris's beer.

Chris looked at Rebecca, with his brow furrowed. _Is this okay? Can she drink alcohol with all that medicine?_

She shrugged. _If anyone deserves a drink, it's her._

Chris excused himself from the table, and brought back two more beers from the refrigerator. He cracked them both open, handing one to Jill and one to Rebecca, before taking his bottle back from Jill.

An offering of peace for a few hours.

* * *

><p>Leon tapped on the the screen of his phone, using his thumb and index fingers to zoom in on the series of photo stills that had been sent from Hunnigan of the suspect who had made the phone call.<p>

The grainy footage displayed a female sporting a scarf and fedora, with large sunglasses and a trench coat to boot. It was like a bad Halloween homage to an old B-movie.

But he could tell from the stance and posture. The confidence and nonchalance radiated from the black and white photos like a sunburn.

Ada Wong.

Claire had fallen asleep beside him, a pile of paperwork and manila folders in her lap and the nightstand lamp on. He had been watching her, wondering what he was getting himself into, and then his phone had vibrated on his side of the bed and he could almost feel the bullet in his stomach again.

_Not in immediate danger. Call you tomorrow._

He waited for the text to send to Hunnigan, and then shut his phone off, knowing she would be calling demanding an explanation. He had thought about lying, about telling her he didn't recognize the person but he'd be sure to keep his guard up.

But what was the point in protecting her?

If she wanted to kill him, or anyone else, she would do it without warning and without making a phone call she knew he would report.

She liked the theatrics of it all.

He swept the paperwork off of Claire and tossed it on top of the pile she had created on the floor, before reaching over her to turn off the light. As he settled back down onto his pillow, Claire stretched her leg over his, resting her head into the crook of his neck.

But he could still feel the bullet piercing his skin.

Rebecca sank down onto the guest bed and closed her eyes, willing her thoughts of Billy Coen away. Earlier in the morning, after she had spoken with her parents to let them know she was okay, she had checked in with her boss via email and seen his message left in bold, still unread.

She sat up, opening her laptop and clicking the icon to open her email.

She double clicked, holding her breath as the message loaded.

_Heard about your high school reunion. Sorry I can't be your date. I've got a work conference to attend, but I'll be in town in a few days with a gift for you. Will you be free?_

She bit her lip, immediately catching the details in the generics of the message.

He knew about Jill. He was investigating a lead on something either pertaining to Umbrella or a copy cat. He'd been calling her in a few days when he found a secure line with information if she wanted it.

Her cursor blinked, waiting for a response.

_I'm free. Can't wait to see you._

She pressed send and slammed the laptop shut, immediately regretting her decision. She didn't know what it was about Billy that kept her in such a vicious cycle, but she hated it and craved it all at the same time.

Sometimes, she felt it was the closest she would get to love given the circumstances.

* * *

><p>Chris opened another beer, his fourth, catching Jill's eye as she watched him.<p>

"What?"

"Are you not going to offer me another, or are you going to finish that off by yourself?"

He complied, handing the beer to her and grabbing another.

"I've got more," he motioned at the table. "You didn't finish your food."

"I'm not a bottomless pit like you."

"You callin' me fat, Valentine?"

She shook her head, taking another sip of the beer. His cheeks were tinged pink and his eyes were bright. He was buzzed from downing the beers over the course of an hour. Jill was nursing hers, afraid the effects of the alcohol would double due to the medicine in her system.

"You've got some appointments scheduled for tomorrow. Check ups and therapy."

"Early?"

"Of course."

Jill began to pack the food into the take-out containers to put in the fridge and stacking plates to take to the sink.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jill looked at him expectantly. "The box," he offered. "Anything."

"I'd rather talk about you for a change."

Chris sat back, propping his feet in the chair Rebecca had vacated.

"Get your boots off the table."

"Question for a question." He dropped his legs from the table, his boots hitting the carpet with a thud.

It was a game they had played on late night patrols. He would ask, she would answer. In turn, he would have to answer anything she asked.

They hadn't played it in years. There had been no need. They were one unit. No more renegade missions apart to separate them.

Two and a half years and an empty coffin rested between them now.

She swigged from her beer and sat down opposite from him at the table. Distance between them. This could go wrong very quickly.

"How much of an ass did you make out of yourself to Barry when he was trying to get you in line?"

"A huge one. I apologized, profusely. I was drunk and a dick, but you knew that already. How much do you remember from there?"

"A lot more than I want to. Why did you request to be in the field?"

"Because I didn't want a partner and I didn't want to sit behind a desk eating anti-depressants all day. How bad did he hurt you?"

Empty bottle.

"I owe my life to Albert Wesker. Hurt is an understatement," she grabbed for another. "What did you see on those tapes you took from Sheva?"

"You and him," he cracked the top off of another bottle with his hand, tossing the cap in the growing pile on the table. "Do you still wish I hadn't saved you?"

"I haven't figured it out yet," her voice was small; honest. "Can you still love me?"

Their eyes met.

"I mean really love me, Chris. Can you handle knowing everything I'm expected to tell the doctors and the therapists? Because I can deal if you can't. I can figure things out. I can take my pills on my own and use whatever self-help mantra they give me to get through the day," she steadied her voice as it started to crack, wishing she was on Chris's level. "But I don't want your sympathy. I don't want those sad looks you give me and those reassuring pats on the shoulder. I can deal with it from everyone else because it's just what they think they're supposed to do, but I can't fucking take it from you, Chris. I just can't. I'm not weak and I'm not some stupid obligation you have to care for because you think it's the right thing to do."

He was a wall of stone, until he wasn't. She saw his jaw tensing, and didn't know whether he was grinding down on his teeth out of anger or preventing himself from saying the first thing that came to mind.

"That was more than one question." He was gruff, full of restraint.

"Answer me." Unrelenting and obstinate.

"Do you remember the night you told me you loved me?"

"That's not an answer."

He leaned forward across the table, forcing her to look at him. "Do you remember?"

Arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair. "Yeah."

_Jill stood in the corner of his apartment, arms folded and head cocked, mirroring Chris's defiant stance from across the room. It was their fourth fight that week. Night after night, it had been the same thing; someone said something cross, the other took it personally, end result: screaming and yelling._

_Tonight had ended differently._

_In the midst of taking jabs at each other, wild hand gestures, shouting, and threats to walk out, Jill had let three words slip that had been a game changer. She hadn't really grasped how it had happened, and from the heavy tension in the air, she was fairly sure Chris hadn't either. One minute she had been calling him a "fucking asshole" and the next she had proclaimed her love. It had all rushed out in one jumbled grab-bag of a sentence._

_"Do you mean that?"_

_His voice was steady, ambiguous._

_"I - I don't know."_

_"Yes or no, it's not hard. You love me or you don't." He unfolded his arms, running his hands through his hair and pulling on it so the strands that fell flat would stand again. Nonchalant._

_"It's not that simple."_

_"Yes, it is," he crossed the room, leaving only a couple of feet in between them. "Right here, right now. You love me or you don't."_

_His bluntness should have pissed her off, especially after the way he had been acting for the last few days. But all she could smell was cigarettes and gun powder, and the familiarity overrode the anger and made her feel warm._

_"Yeah."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Chris, it's -"_

_"No, that's it. That's all there needs to be."_

"Our world isn't the same anymore."

"That's inevitable. We're not 23 years old anymore."

"Chris, this wasn't some stupid fight or a break up. This was years apart. I died. I did terrible things that I can't even stand for you to know about. You can't just write this off because I wasn't in control of myself."

"I didn't say that I could. I'm angry. I'm really angry and I don't know who to be angry at. Sometimes it's at you, sometimes it's at myself...most of the time it's at Wesker. I can't even fuckin' fathom what you went through there," he took a few swallows from his beer and slid into the chair closer to her. "But then I woke up today and you were there next to me and all of that just seemed irrelevant."

"But it's not irrelevant. It's my every day, Chris."

"It doesn't have to be."

"It doesn't have to be," she whispered. "But right now it is, and I'm asking if you can handle it. You either love me or you don't."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: So my deadline of finishing this may not be happening by the time RE6 rolls around. I was trying to finish it before then because I fear after playing it, I'm going to either want to write another story or I'm going to have a hard time focusing on this one knowing what happens afterward. I'm too attached to the storyline to quit, so we shall see what kind of inspiration RE6 draws if it's not finished by then. Thanks for your continued to support. I really do appreciate it.<strong>


	16. Time is Running Out

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Sixteen: Time is Running Out**

Leon's eyes opened to the pitch black of Claire's room. The space beside him was empty. His right hand immediately slammed down on the nightstand, finding purchase with his handgun as he got to his feet to follow the dim light pouring from the end of the hallway through the cracked bedroom door.

She was sitting on the couch alone and leaned forward as if she were in pain, a small object resting between her palms.

"Claire?"

She turned, a grim look on her face as she blankly gazed at his now lowered weapon. She held the object up.

Her phone.

"What's going on?"

"Hunnigan contacted TerraSave with information regarding the suspected assailant or whatever-the-fuck you had them tracking down."

Leon swallowed.

"They forwarded a photo to my phone that was sent to you. Hunnigan was under the impression you recognized the person and had gone MIA so she asked they contact me with the evidence since you were unreachable."

"I turned my phone off."

"Why? I'm sure she's been trying to reach you."

She wasn't talking about Hunnigan.

"It's not what you think," he said quickly, although he was unsure of what he was defending himself from. Betrayal by omission?

"What is it that I'm thinking? That you're not identifying Ada Wong because you don't want her brought in and tried like the goddamn criminal she is before she kills us all?"

"If she wanted to fucking kill us, she'd have slit our throats in our sleep already, Claire."

"That's reassuring, Kennedy."

He safetied the gun and set it down on the nearest table before moving to stand in front of Claire.

"If she's trying to reach out to me, it's because she has information on something she thinks I'll be interested in."

"Then why doesn't she take it to the BSAA or TerraSave?"

"Because I won't arrest or shoot her on sight."

"That's unfortunate."

Leon sighed, shaking the hair out of his eyes. "If she's risking getting tracked down, it's probably something significant."

"I know," she admitted quietly, too angry to meet his gaze. "When are you leaving?"

"I didn't say I was leaving. I just think it's best if I contact her. Do you want me not to?"

"Please don't make me answer that."

"I won't contact her then." He moved to sit next her, his fingers brushing over her bared shoulder.

"Don't do that."

But he sat down next to her anyway. She was so warm.

"Let's go back to bed." His breath tickled her ear as he pulled on her, gently tugging her toward him.

She let him even though she knew he would be gone in the morning.

* * *

><p>"I didn't stop loving you -"<p>

"That's not what I asked."

Chris remained still. The question was loaded; the answer simple.

"Yes," he amended, catching her tired eyes. She was such a mess and so beautiful all at the same time.

Her arms unfolded and she rested her hands on the table, splaying her fingers out across the grain in the wood as she let the breath she had been holding for nearly three years exhale.

"Is that it?" He didn't feel like one word was enough.

"I don't know."

"Do you want to go to bed?"

"No."

"Do you want to keep drinking?"

She assessed the table in front of them. Chris was on his seventh beer while she nursed her second. She shrugged in response, feeling like the alcohol was more for his benefit than hers, but it couldn't hurt.

His body was closer to hers than it had been since her moment of weakness earlier on the couch. She could see from his posture he was doing everything in his power not to trigger a flashback by getting too close. The response would probably hurt him more than it hurt her, and she wondered if things would ever be normal again; if she would ever be able to enjoy his presence or if she would spend the rest of her life in her own personal glass cell, fated to watch him from behind some sort of psychological plexiglass when he was right next to her.

It sounded like more of a Shakespearean Tragedy than her fall from the window.

Her thoughts drifted to Rebecca and how awkward the entire situation must be for her. She was trapped in an apartment with nothing but solidified tension, with an impending decision to once again enter a world of nightmares as a career choice. She hadn't really spoken to her since the night they left the facility, and that conversation was blurry from the medication Rebecca had been quick to feed her to avoid a total meltdown.

Everything about the present seemed hazy. The only clear memories she seemed to have were from the past and her time spent with Wesker. No wonder she was eating pills and seeing therapists.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she brought her hand up to her face in an attempt to refocus her emotions. "I just have a lot of thoughts running together at once."

"About what?" He set the bottle down, face serious but still flushed from the alcohol.

"Rebecca," his eyebrows quirked up. "How alone she must feel here with us."

"I think she understands."

"I _know_ she understands, Chris, but she's going through things, too."

He was silent, evaluating her. She had spent three years in captivity with a monster and the only rational emotion she could have was sympathy for those who spent the time mourning her death. A psychologist would probably call it a coping mechanism or a defense against reality. Chris thought it was just Jill's nature.

"I wasn't very good to her while you were gone," he said it casually, like she had been gone for three weeks as opposed to three years. "I wasn't very good to anyone really. It's like they all needed something from me. They needed to hear that things were going to be okay - that _I_ was going to be okay, and I couldn't give them that, Jill. I still can't give them that."

She heard his voice crack as he spit the sentence out, words tumbling around from the weight and the beer. He turned his head away, focusing on the tiny holes in the wall where pictures used to hang. Things were fuzzy. He hadn't cried since the funeral.

Jill had only seen him cry once in their time together, and it had been the worst thing she had ever seen.

_"What is this?"_

_His voice was hoarse, still battling symptoms from the head cold he had developed. Rebecca had said he was lucky that was all he came away with after an impromptu trip to Antarctica._

_Jill tensed, feeling his fingers brush over the swollen wound on her shoulder. The time apart had overwhelmed the need for attention to detail. Her hands had moved too quickly, his teeth nipping and scraping at just the right spots. Now, there was time to think and assess. To revel._

_"It's the puncture wound from the infection site," she exhaled. "It's still healing."_

_Chris reached over, hands frantic and fumbling for the lamp on the bedside table._

_Light flooded the room and before Jill could yank the sheet over herself, Chris was on top of her, pinning her in place to examine the wound._

_It was an angry red, with swirls of yellows and purples; blues where the vessels had burst._

_"Does it hurt?"_

_"Yeah."_

_He stared at it, unable to tear his eyes away. She watched his face turn from scared to somber. His jaw clenched tight and his nostrils flared like they had when Claire had thrown her arms around the neck of the rookie cop rambling on about snow and the little girl named Sherry._

_And then she saw the shade of red start to brim the whites of his eyes and his nose turning a soft pink, like it did when the weather outside was too cold to stand in Raccoon City._

_"Chris..."_

_He shook his head and flipped the switch to the light off, arms slipping underneath and around her to pull her tighter to his chest._

_He didn't say anything for the rest of the night._

Her first instinct when she saw his shoulders sag in defeat was to grab his face with her hands and pull him into her, kissing him like she had wanted to do when she first came to through the haze of the P30. Instead, she had begged him to save the world.

She was too afraid of suffocating in his warmth. Too afraid she wouldn't taste the same and the jig would be up.

She placed her hand on his back, letting her fingers gently rub the back of his head. His hair was shorter than she was used to.

He relaxed into the touch and brought his palms up to his eyes, pressing them flat and breathing in. After a few seconds, he shook his head and turned to face her, shrugging out of her attempts to comfort him.

"I'm alright. I'm just...I've had too much to drink. I'm okay now, really." His words slurred in his attempts to make excuses quickly. He was embarrassed.

"Let's go to bed. My appointment is early, right?"

He nodded, taking a moment to gather his bearings as he stood. He stumbled toward the couch and she caught his elbow, pulling him gently in her direction. He planted his feet firmly to catch his balance and stared at her, confused and bewildered.

She tugged on him again, treading toward the hallway and in the direction of his bedroom.

Their bedroom.

He followed.

* * *

><p>"So you're talking to Chris about your time in captivity?"<p>

"Yes...and no. I don't really go too much into detail."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't ask."

"He doesn't ask questions about what happened?"

"No, he doesn't ask for details if I don't offer them." She was getting annoyed. The questions and the prodding had been non-stop.

_"This is what I get for actually talking."_

"Do you think you would feel better if you offered more details to him? Opened up a little more about your nightmares?"

"Memories," Jill corrected. "This wasn't some figment of my imagination about monsters under the bed."

"You're right." Jill watched her scribble. _Hostile? Indignant?_

"He doesn't talk to me about things that happened while I was gone either."

"Things that happened to him or in general?" Dr. Pearce leaned forward, taking a sip from her mug.

_Tea or coffee?_

"Both," Jill sighed. _I bet it's tea. She's probably totally against coffee._ "He gives a little bit every now and then if I push about things I've heard from our friends or from his sister, but it's like it's just a subject we don't breach."

"What do you think happened while you were gone?"

"I think he was out of control. I think he blamed himself and took it out on everyone around him."

"That's not an unnatural reaction in dealing with grief, Jill."

"I know, but I feel like there's this part of him that I don't know. It's not like we can just pick up where we left off. Two - almost three years - feels like a lifetime, especially considering the circumstances."

"If you want to know about the person he is now or the person he still is, then maybe you need to talk about the person you are," Dr. Pearce paused, setting her notebook down and clasping her hands together. "Your circumstances may rest at the very extreme end of things, but they're not uncommon in couples who experience extended periods of separations. Whether or not its husbands and wives enlisted in the military or BSAA operatives right here...not every couple is able to spend every waking moment with one another."

"I'm aware of that. I feel like I've spent more time apart from Chris than I have actually being with him...unless you count fighting for your life side by side as quality relationship time."

"The point is," Dr. Pearce continued, ignoring Jill's sarcasm. "You're right, you both have gone through things over the past few years that have probably permanently changed or altered you in some way, but that doesn't mean it's impossible to recover from, if you want to."

"I know that."

"I think you're ignoring a bigger problem," she paused, her tone growing steady and calm. Jill knew what was coming. "I think the emotional and physical trauma you sustained while with Albert Wesker is impeding upon your ability to manage your relationship with Chris and with your friends and family."

Jill was silent. She felt her cheeks flush with humiliation.

"In cases such as abuse or forced -"

"It wasn't forced. I let him."

"You were heavily drugged. I've seen the chemical composition of the P30; even if you wanted to let him, your mind had no way of making that conscious decision."

"Whatever." It was a futile retort, but Jill had nothing else to defend to herself with.

"Have you talked to Chris about -"

"He knows what happened," Jill responded coldly before Dr. Pearce could finish the question.

_"Please don't say it out loud. It's too real if you say it out loud."_

"Does he know that you felt willing?"

_Did_ he know? She had hurled her sins at him a few times in the midst of their arguments over the past few weeks, but had he really understood what she was confessing to him?

_"The videos. He saw the footage."_

"I haven't sat down and had a full on heart-to-heart about exactly who and what I spent my free time doing, if that's what you're asking, but he has an idea. He's seen surveillance footage."

"Intimate footage of you and Albert Wesker?"

Jill felt her cheeks get hot and her heart start to speed up.

_"Please not now. Don't freak out, not with Chris right outside."_

"We don't have to push this further if -"

"No," Jill rasped. "We're going to finish this fucking appointment if it kills me. I don't know exactly what he's seen. He just said he knew things. We don't talk about it because it disgusts him."

"I think you underestimate Chris's capability of handling your situation." Dr. Pearce poured water into the complimentary glass sitting between them and handed it to Jill. She accepted, downing most of it before setting it down on the cork coasters that were placed perfectly on the table resting between them.

"I think you underestimate just how much hatred Chris holds toward Wesker."

"He's dead now. Part of that resentment and negativity can die along with him, if you let it."

"Albert Wesker isn't dead," Jill glanced over, the minute and hour hand falling into place to signal the end of their session. "He just started something he's yet to finish. Someone else will finish it for him."

"But in the physical sense, Jill, he's gone."

"Don't you get it? Dead or not, he will still exist in this world. He'll be in every nightmare Chris has that he refuses to talk about. In every headline about a new pharmaceutical conglomerate that's risen to the top only to be exposed for laundering money through terrorists associated with biological warfare. He's on every goddamn headstone and memorial to someone who died in Raccoon City or anywhere else that's experienced this - that includes your brother."

Jill watched her grimace ever so slightly at the mention and shake it off, face stoic and concentrated.

"When Albert Wesker finally dies, he will take the whole world with him."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Sorry it's taken so long! I've been busy and managing free time with playing RE6. I've been avoiding a lot of post-RE6 fics because of this, but I definitely will be catching up as soon as I finish the game. I will be finishing this probably within the next two chapters. Thank you for the continued support, and as always, please review!<strong>


	17. Silver Lining

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Seventeen: Silver Lining**

"Ms. Chambers, I'm glad you've decided to consider your options here with us...again."

"Again," Rebecca repeated softly.

The North American BSAA HQ didn't look any different than it had when she had worked there before. There had been no changes to the decor or the layout, although she had heard there were a few replacement machines to keep up with the ever changing technology in the labs.

It wasn't so much deja vu, but rather like being in a time warp.

"I understand this is a lot to deal with..." Weiss trailed off, watching curiously as Rebecca glanced down at her phone, her pallor changing to that of a ghost. "Are you okay?"

Rebecca pressed a few buttons, declining the not-so-mysterious caller from the blocked number, and slipping the phone into her purse. "I - I'm fine. Just a lot of bad memories here."

The rise and the fall.

"I'm sure of it. Captain Redfield's discovery should brighten those memories a little."

It sounded like more of a question than a statement. Rebecca realized Weiss probably knew very little of what had been going on with Jill since she had been released from the medical facilities, but she had nothing to offer him in the way of an update. Chris did very little speaking and Jill skirted the issue carefully. Rebecca couldn't blame her. She was like a ghost trying to fit into an old skin.

"I want you to resume your old position as head of virology. From what I understand, you have a position at the CDC along the same lines, so I assume you haven't gotten rusty." It was a nonchalant way of saying the BSAA had been keeping tabs on her since her departure.

"It's not quite the same field of work, if that's what you're implying."

"I would hope not," Weiss smiled, sliding a folder filled with paper in front of her. "You can look over these yourself or can have a lawyer look over them if you wish. It's basically what you signed when you first started here. Confidentiality clauses, statement of salary and bonus options, benefits, right to terminate position at will...all of it."

She nodded, setting her purse on the floor as she felt the phone inside it vibrate against her lap.

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

"I know, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to give you the paperwork."

It meant he knew she would accept, because what else was there to do? She was a fool for thinking she could leave everything behind and get a fresh start. Peace didn't exist without an end to the war, and she doubted the battle against Umbrella and its successors and the scars they brought with them would ever end.

The constant and silent ringing of her phone was a testament to that.

* * *

><p>"I thought I'd find you here."<p>

Chris turned, startled as Claire entered the BSAA's gym. Jill's appointments with Dr. Pearce only lasted an hour, but the anxiety he felt sitting in the tiny box chairs outside of the room was enough to drive him insane. Or more insane. He didn't really know which as of late. He sought solace in the gym, doing briefer versions of his workout regimen before Africa. After her and before her.

"Or you knew Jill had an appointment this morning and asked front desk where I was and they told you because you're my sister and you all think that means security measures don't apply to you."

"Nice to see you, too, big brother."

He steadied the punching bag and headed over to the bench where he had thrown his shirt and locker key. She followed him and sat down, staring at him expectantly.

"What?"

"I know you're mad I left that night."

"I'm not mad you left."

"You're mad I left with Leon."

"Touche."

"I just needed to get away for a few days, Chris. This has been a lot to take in."

"No shit."

She sighed, frustrated at his unwillingness to let it go, but used to it. He had been clinging to vengeance for over a decade.

"Look, I just think maybe you need to focus on things other than boys -"

"You make it sound like I'm sixteen years old with a crush."

"You always will be."

"No, Chris, I'm not. I'm an adult and I've dealt with the same as you. You took your little vacation from the real world for six months, you can give me a few goddamn days."

The hardness of his glare frightened her. It was probably a bad idea to bring up his vices, but there was no other way to get him to listen. She had more important things to discuss than his disapproval of what she did with her personal time.

"I'm assuming you didn't just come down here to apologize about Leon."

"I didn't."

"Well, come on, let's walk and talk. Jill will be done in a few minutes." He grabbed her hand, pulling her up from the bench as she followed him toward his locker to grab his belongings.

"He left this morning," she paused, curious as to how to phrase the reasons. "He got some info from an old friend."

Chris watched her face change from serious to pained and back to serious again. He knew there were plenty of unspoken things between them; little details of her life that she didn't feel he was privy to knowing. They used to tell each other everything and then the world made it so that knowing everything was too much.

"About what?"

"I'm not really sure, but if this person is going out of their way to reach him...it's probably not going to be good news."

"You can say Ada Wong, Claire. I'm not an idiot." He realized after he said the words she had probably been avoiding saying the name for her own benefit rather than his.

"The government will figure out soon enough who it is, but he wanted her name to be kept out of it in regards to the BSAA and TerraSave if whatever he brings back is viable."

Change of subject.

"He's going to get himself killed," Chris muttered as he shook his head, grabbing his keys and slamming his locker shut. "What are you asking of me?"

"I'm asking you to keep your mouth shut when Weiss starts questioning you about Leon going off the grid. I'm sure Hunnigan will cover his ass as best as she can, but I don't want you flying off the handle about this."

"You haven't even given me any reason to believe he's got anything worth a damn, Claire. Until he comes back with proof of something that concerns me, I've got no interest in worrying about him and you shouldn't either. He's probably diggin' his own grave."

She would never say it out loud, but he was probably right.

* * *

><p>"Is Captain Redfield here with you?"<p>

"...yes," Jill replied, slowly and unsure of Dr. Pearce's intentions.

"I'd like to speak with him," she paused, watching the concern cross her face. "Not to divulge anything you've said today, I'd just like to talk to him about your progress and my recommendations for the future."

Jill nodded, swallowing the fear that she would be thrown into another white room to rot for years. She didn't know which would be worse. At least with Wesker she had served a purpose, regardless of how deadly that purpose was.

They exited the office into an empty waiting room. The receptionist glanced up with a warm smile.

"Captain Redfield said he was going down to the gym. He should be back shortly."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Lieutenant Valentine."

Jill cringed at the sign of respect and took a seat, feeling heavy with guilt and embarrassment. Her official label had been the BSAA equivalent of a prisoner of war rather than war criminal. The facts of her role in Kijuju had been sealed, buried away with the rest of the dirty little secrets they were keeping.

But from past experience, Jill knew that terrible things didn't stay buried for long.

"Sorry I'm late, Claire delayed me a little."

Jill tore her eyes away from the self-help pamphlets she had memorized, surprised to see Claire standing behind Chris.

"It's no worry, Captain Redfield. I'd like to speak with you in my office for a few minutes if you have the time."

"I've got six weeks' worth of time, a couple of minutes won't hurt." He smiled as he said it, but Jill could hear the disdain in his voice.

Claire stood awkwardly for a moment as her brother disappeared behind the closed door before taking a seat next to Jill.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around the last few days. This is all still really hard to process."

Jill and Claire had inevitably grown close in the interim between Raccoon City and the present. The bond of the survivors was a complex one due to the nature of the work they had all sought out (or rather, could not turn away from), and the years spent in hiding and on the run. Normality was never going to happen, but the creation of the BSAA had offered a reprieve from the fugitive-like life they had grown accustomed to. Quick phone calls talking in secret code had somehow become family dinners and weekends off together, barring the threat of an outbreak somewhere in the world. They had all gotten too comfortable in their own little world with their new titles and paychecks.

And then Jill died.

And Rebecca quit.

And Chris gave up.

And Leon was always gone.

And Wesker lived.

And suddenly it was 1998 again, and Claire's world had become the smell of rotting flesh and dodging bullets wondering if her brother was alive.

"It's all a little hard for me to process, too."

"I thought I would give you some time with Chris and Rebecca, and in the meantime I figured I would come up with some great and profound statement about all of this to make things easier for you, but I don't think there's really a precedent for this," Claire laughed nervously as Jill nodded.

"That's what therapy is for, right?"

Before Claire could respond, Chris exited the office. She watched Jill study him closely, searching for answers, but his face reflected no emotion - only exhaustion.

"I've gotta get back to work now. There's still so much to catch up on," she said mostly to Jill. "Can I come by later tonight? I'll bring take out."

Chris eyed her warily. "We just had Chinese."

"Pizza it is."

* * *

><p><em>Gone to visit an old friend. Please don't send the calvary.<em>

_-RC_

"For a doctor, she's got the neatest handwriting I've ever seen," Chris mumbled, tossing the legal pad back onto the kitchen counter. Rebecca didn't have any friends in the area that he knew of, and it was very unlike her to be so vague.

Or it used to be unlike her. People could change a lot in a few years.

Jill collapsed on the couch, feeling the weight of her body's emotional exhaustion. It was almost time for another pill.

"What did you and Dr. Pearce talk about?"

"You."

Jill glared as Chris began rummaging for his lighter in the kitchen.

"And?"

"Your progress."

He continued rummaging, deflecting the attention from himself to the mess his was making. It was a habit Jill remembered all too well.

"I'm tired of feeling like I'm crazy, Chris, so either say it or -"

"You're not crazy, Jill. Dr. Pearce made it very clear that you're not delusional and everything you're experiencing is typical from someone who dealt with so much trauma."

She hated the way he tiptoed around it, repeating things Dr. Pearce had told him.

But she loved him for not saying it out loud.

"The brain just has a really slow and fucked up healing process."

Those were his words. She appreciated them more.

"You've just gotta be patient - _I've_ gotta be patient."

He found his cigarettes and placed them on top of the counter with his lighter, next to Rebecca's note. He was waiting until she had fallen asleep, as if she had forgotten he had picked up the habit again.

"Did she say anything else?"

"We talked about triggers," he offered, moving to sit on the arm at the opposite end of the couch.

The nightmare she had last night.

"Oh."

"She said even if you think you're okay with something, you might have a latent reaction, and there's not really anything you can do about it."

"Other than wait it out."

Chris sighed, defeated. "Yeah."

He didn't want to mention that Dr. Pearce had also said Jill had an "understandable fear that her captor was still alive."

He didn't want to embarrass her and make her feel as if her trust had been breached.

He didn't want to admit he carried the same fear; rocket launcher and volcano be damned.

"It's not you." Chris met her eyes, glassy with unshed tears. "You don't cause that reaction. I'm not afraid of you...I can tell that's what you feel like." She motioned her hand at the cushion space between them.

She had woken up in the middle of the night, thrashing violently and kicking him away. Her nails had scratched the side of his neck, leaving angry red marks that had faded by morning. Once she had disentangled herself from the sheets and realized where she was, the tears had come and Chris had watched helplessly as she kept him an arm's length and a mile away.

He nodded his head, unsure of how to respond. It was still so easy for her to read him, and half the time he felt like she was a complete stranger; like she had just been assigned as his partner and suddenly he had to trust this enigma of a woman with his life.

"I miss you."

"Yeah?" He held her stare.

"Yeah."

Chris shifted from his position on the arm of the couch and moved toward her, stopping a few inches away, as if to say _I'm right here_.

She got the point, unfolding her arms. A white flag.

He hesitated for a brief second, and then leaned forward to rest his head against her torso. She stiffened, and he could hear her heartbeat increase and then slow, her body timidly relaxing under the weight of his.

They didn't speak a word.

Jill felt his arms encircle her waist; felt the pressure of his muscles tensing and pinning her in place. It was such a strange parallel to that night; the way her arms had wrapped around Wesker seconds before the fall, before the black had consumed her.

The contact should have made her anxiety explode. It should have sent her gasping and thrashing at the man in black before she was frozen like it had earlier that morning.

But he was keeping her feet on the ground; keeping her in his warmth

And for the moment, Jill couldn't think of a single reason to fight it.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I might have been a little too quick to say the story would be over in two chapters, but it is coming to its end very quickly. I do plan to continue to write, I'm not sure whether it'll be multi-chapters endeavors or one-shots, but we'll see! Thank you all again so much for sticking with me. The delays between chapters should be much shorter going forward! As always, please review.<strong>


	18. How Close is Close Enough?

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Eighteen: How Close is Close Enough?**

"There was a special going on..."

Chris shook his head, half-annoyed and half-amused at his sister, who huffed into his apartment carrying five pizza boxes stacked on each other.

"Besides, it's not like you have any food in this place and leftover pizza is totally underrated," Claire added, setting the warm cardboard down on the dining room table before taking a seat herself. "Where's Rebecca?"

Jill shrugged, taking a seat opposite of Claire and willing herself to enjoy the aroma of the pizza. The pills curbed her appetite, but she was becoming increasingly aware of the weight she had lost since her return, mostly thanks to Chris's worried looks every time she passed up food.

She just wanted to sleep; deadliest weapon physique be damned.

"She went out with a friend, said she'd be back late."

Claire raised an eyebrow at Chris's tone of irritation, sharing a look with Jill who shook her head not to press the issue.

"Well, she'll be pleasantly surprised when she comes back to a stocked fridge as opposed to...whatever it is you've got filling your shelves. Beer, I assume."

"I hardly think leftover pizza is what a _stocked fridge_ looks like, Claire." Chris frowned as Jill cleared her throat, clearly tired of their bickering. "What do you want to drink?"

"A beer."

"Of course," he muttered, pulling a few beers and bottles of water from the fridge.

He sat down at the head of the table in between Claire and Jill as they began to divvy the food out amongst themselves.

"How long is Rebecca staying?"

"I'm not sure. Weiss made her an offer to resume her position with the BSAA. She was supposed to meet with him today."

"You think she'll take it?"

"I dunno," he grumbled, cringing as the grease and melted cheese burnt his tongue.

"I imagine it's a difficult decision," Jill said quietly. "Being out of it for so long...it's probably hard to make that commitment to come back."

The words hung in the air, like a lead balloon waiting for impact.

It had grown hard on all of them, continuously waging an invisible war the world was blissfully ignorant to, but Claire knew they could never stop - at least not yet. There was too much at stake. If anything, Jill's return made the circumstances insurmountable, and six weeks of leave was probably eating her brother alive.

"She'll find her way back."

_It's the right thing to do._

"Where's Leon? I hope he didn't feel like -"

"He's working," the words tumbled out of Claire's mouth quickly, and she felt her cheeks instantly heat to crimson.

"Oh..." It was Jill's turn to arch an eyebrow as Chris smugly sipped from his beer, obviously entertained by Claire's outburst.

"Some things came up...government things."

Jill nodded in response, too wrought with exhaustion to care about the honest answer for the moment. She was craving a shower and sleep and Chris. She took a bite of her pizza.

"Things finally back to normal at TerraSave?" Chris deflected the heat from Claire before Jill started to ask questions.

"Getting there. There's a lot of paperwork to weed through." _A lot of sick fucks who idolized Albert Wesker that you pissed off, big brother._

"You wanted to be the brains."

The affectionate joke made her homesick.

Sad.

* * *

><p>Rebecca wrapped the blankets around her. The hotel sheets were soft, warmed by the bodies that had been pressed against them for the better half of the last few hours.<p>

The room was much nicer than the last time they had met. He must have gotten a pretty sizable payout for his last job.

He exited the bathroom, light crossing her face as the door opened. She shut her eyes against it, opening them again to black.

"You hungry, princess?"

"I could eat."

"Pretty decent room service menu, or it better be for what they're chargin' me," he paused waiting on her response. She was quiet. "Nicer than that last joint I was in, huh?"

"How can you afford this?"

"Got lucky in the stock market."

Hushed shuffling as she reached for her clothes strewn about the floor.

"Hey hey, sweetheart, where you goin'?"

"You don't have to protect me from it. It's offensive when you lie."

"Who's protecting who here?" He reached for her arm, letting go as she batted him away. "Alright alright," he wrapped his arms around her torso as she finished pulling her underwear on. "I gave some info to some people with a pretty padded checkbook."

"Who?"

"I didn't ask for her name, just her money."

"Good people?"

Billy swallowed, hurt she would even make the accusation.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was soft. He knew she was sincere. She was always sincere.

"It's alright. Didn't spend too much time with her. She didn't look like she wanted to be in one place too long and God knows I don't need to be caught in a photograph somewhere. We had a drink, I told her a bit of what I'd found and she told me a bit of what she already knew about what I found. She said she had a friend up in the government that was one of the good ones and would be able to handle it, handed me some cash and paid for our tab, and that was it. She was gone and I left shortly after."

"And you didn't have a sample?"

"You think if I had a sample of it I'd be running around offering it up to the highest bidder thinking I'm not about to end the world? I'd give it straight to you. You're the only one who knows how to handle that shit properly, princess."

"Why didn't you come to me with it first?"

"You told me you didn't want to know about these things anymore."

"Then why'd you send me that message, Billy?" Rebecca pulled out of his grasp, reclining back against the pillows and pulling the sheet across her body, realizing she was exposed. She knew he was smiling in the dark at her embarrassment.

"I heard about your friend and knew you would be back in town," he laid down next to her, hand sliding under the sheet to rest on her stomach. "I wanted to see you."

"We can't keep doing this."

"You said that last time."

"Do you have copies of what you gave her?"

He sighed, rolling away from her. He was pouting and she felt bad for making him feel used, because he never made her feel used. She turned over on her side, one arm propping her head up and the other snaking down his torso.

"We can't keep doing this."

One day, she would mean it.

* * *

><p>Jill stood in the bathroom, staring at her reflection through the cloud of steam. Her skin was red from the scalding shower, raw from the ferocity of her scrubbing; it almost matched the color of the jagged line across her chest. At least the bruising had gone away.<p>

She let her towel drop, inspecting her skin for remnants of old battle wounds as she did after every shower, but every time held the same outcome.

They were gone, erased from her body like they had never happened. Except for the one across her heart. A permanent reminder.

She picked the towel up, wrapping it around her thinning frame as she grabbed for her brush to exit the bathroom.

"Thank you...I mean it. Yeah, I love you, too, kid." Jill sat down on the edge of the bed, raking the brush through her hair as Chris ended his call. "You leave any hot water for me?"

"I didn't realize you were showering, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'll be quick."

She watched him enter the bathroom and lean into the shower to turn the water on, and then turn toward the mirror to inspect his growing stubble. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the damp floor, before unfastening and stepping out of his jeans.

The door was still cracked enough so that she could see him, which wasn't abnormal. Chris was hardly shy about anything, and he especially had no reason to maintain any privacy from her. He wasn't the one who was afraid; it was her that had the reasons to build barriers between them...wasn't it?

Jill froze as he pulled his boxers off, kicking them to the side with the rest of his discarded clothing before pulling back the glass door and slamming it. She exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, cheeks burning with nervousness and feeling foolish and immature.

She went back to brushing her hair, trying to ignore the thought of Chris in the shower a few feet away.

_"Most anti-depressants inhibit the sex drive, it's a common side effect."_

_"Okay."_

_"The nature of trauma you've experienced may deter you from seeking to act on any sexual desires anyway."_

_"Alright," Jill muttered, tapping her foot in annoyance. "I get it."_

_"I realize this can be an uncomfortable or even embarrassing thing to talk about, Jill, but I don't want you to feel like anything you're experiencing is abnormal."_

_"I'm not experiencing anything."_

_Dr. Pearce arched an eyebrow, flipping a few pages back in her notes. "A few visits ago you expressed that sometimes in your recollections from your time in imprisonment you remember indulging in sexual activities with Albert Wesker. That it's not always the violent and brutal acts -"_

_"Okay!" She uncrossed her legs quickly, throwing her hands up._

_"Jill, this is something you have to face. Addressing it can make the understanding and healing process go a lot more quickly. Repressing these things can cause much more damage."_

_"He has to be so disgusted with me. He says he isn't, but how could he not be?"_

_"Chris understands that you were under the control of Albert Wesker. You didn't willingly do any of those things you were forced to do."_

_"But what if I did? I remember - I remember wanting to please him, wanting to piss Excella off. I can see and feel things that happened," Jill spit the words out, choking back the cry. "It would absolutely devastate Chris. He's such a good man."_

_"You told me that he admitted to you that he knew some of what went on."_

_"He did."_

_"Has he expressed any sort of negativity toward you in regards to this?"_

_"Not necessarily. We've both said some harsh things to each other, but -"_

_"Then it sounds to me like you're continuously underestimating his ability to cope with what has happened to you," Dr. Pearce leaned forward, forcing Jill to focus on her. "These are all understandable fears and emotions that come with recovery. I think you're confusing Chris's own fear of crossing a line with you for disinterest. Do you want to have sex?"_

_"It's too soon for me. I just - I can't...but yes, I think about it. How could I not?"_

_"Has he pressured you in any way?"_

_"No. He hasn't said or done anything. I can barely stand to let him touch me."_

_"Do you think that hurts him? Or that he expects something out of you?"_

_Jill shut her eyes, fingers running through her hair. She felt shaky and weak._

_"I know it hurts him...it has to. If the roles were reversed, I would feel completely shut out. I don't know if he expects anything from me. He can't possibly begin to understand what this feels like."_

_"Well, what does it feel like?" Dr. Pearce set her pen and paper down, waiting on Jill's response._

_"It feels like being in some alternate universe, where things should just be easy and the same," Jill steadied herself, taking a sip from the glass of water next to her. "Where we should be picking up right where we left off before, but instead there's been two and a half years of horrible things thrown between us and I feel like we're these strangers trying to remember where we've seen each other before. It's nerve wracking and infuriating. I don't even know if he's been with anyone else."_

_"So ask him." She said it so simply, as if it were that easy._

_"I can't."_

_"Because you're afraid of the answer?"_

_"Maybe I am."_

She pulled shorts and an old t-shirt on and paced around the room, tidying up things that didn't need to be tidied as a distraction.

But the water in the shower kept running, constantly aggravating a thought she was trying to avoid until she couldn't stand it any longer.

She grabbed her brush from the edge of the bed, with the intention (and excuse) of returning it to the bathroom. When she reached the cracked doorway, she hesitated, peering into the bathroom. The steam had cleared from the mirror, and she could see the reflection of Chris's form behind the pebbled glass of the shower door. He was standing in the spray of the water, one palm flattened against the shower wall, the other arm obscured from sight. She remained frozen, free hand clutching the doorframe and her other gripping the hairbrush as she watched, compelled.

His outline was blurry, but she could see his obscured arm come into view, and then disappear. The pattern became evident; he was stroking himself, working toward release.

Jill felt the heat in her stomach reach her cheeks, burning all the way to her ears. She felt guilty but urged to continue watching. She was a voyeur vying to be caught.

She thought of the cameras in her cell.

_"Is this what Wesker was waiting to see?"_

His speed increased, and she wondered what he was thinking about; if a particular memory had triggered this, and if it was of her.

_"And if it's not you?"_

The thought broke her courage, and she backed away from the door, setting the brush on their dresser and climbing into bed to stare at the ceiling. After a few minutes, the shower water shut off and Chris stepped into the room, towel hanging loosely around his hips. He ran his fingers through his hair as he searched for a pair of shorts to put on, and Jill tried everything she could to focus on the white of the ceiling and not his physique.

Because he was all she could think about.

_"Am I all you think about?"_

But it was still too soon.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This is a chapter that I've actually had pretty much pieced together since the start of the story, hence why there is so little time between updates. I feel like it's critical in highlighting the progress Jill has made, as well as how far she still has to go. It didn't turn out quite as I wanted it to, but after several edits, I'm at least mostly satisfied with the result. Thanks for your continued support, and as always, please review!<strong>


	19. Different

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Nineteen: Different**

"We have a problem."

"What?" Claire sighed into the phone, rubbing her eyelids. It was 4:42am; her alarm was set for 5:30am.

"Someone is working on a new virus."

"...are you sure?"

"I'm looking at the intel right now." His voice was stern, excited with worry.

"Send it to me. I can have TerraSave examine it...we can get it over to the BSAA and put a stop to this."

"That's the problem, Claire. None of this information ties anyone to its development. Some of this dates back to 2001. Any pharmaceutical companies or organizations or whoever-the-fuck likes to dabble in this shit would have already been tied to this. We're dealing with something or someone new."

"Where did she get this information from?" Claire still couldn't bring herself to say the name.

"She didn't say," Leon hesitated. "She just said he's a pretty reliable source when it comes to this."

"Bullshit."

"Whoever he is, he's given TerraSave intel before. He has a personal stake in this, he just doesn't have the added benefit of protection like the rest of us." _Get the fuck off your high horse, Claire._

Claire swallowed at his tone, hating the way he was accosting her. It made her defensive and angry...jealous?

"I have every right to question her motives and her sources. Someone has to because you sure as hell won't."

"We don't have time for this right now."

He was right, but she'd never say it.

"Send it over. I'll put a team on it."

"I'm bringing it back with me before I return to DC. Ada said we need to be very careful in the wake of Kijuju, especially with the Gionne family."

"Extend my gratitude for her concern, won't you?"

"I'll see you soon."

She hated how he chose not to acknowledge her outbursts, and she hated even more how vague of a word _soon_ could be.

5:03am.

* * *

><p>"What's wrong?" Chris was awake and reaching for his gun, cell phone cradled between shoulder and ear. Jill sat up, startled and disoriented.<p>

"Nothing...yet. Leon has evidence of the development of a new virus."

"_What_?" He hissed into the phone, causing Claire to sigh. She hated dealing with him like this; hated being the messenger and the bearer of bad news all wrapped in one.

"He thinks we're dealing with a new player. Some of the data originates from 2001," Claire paused. "He seems to think it's pretty valid; whoever Ada got this from has helped us out before."

"Do you think this is real?" His tone was brotherly and far from condescending, and it warmed her heart that even in matters as serious as this, Chris still trusted her opinion over anyone else's. After everything.

"He's bringing me the intel and I'm putting TerraSave on it."

"When?"

"He said soon," Claire glanced at her clock. "I have to get ready for work...I'll talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you too."

"Claire?" Jill was leaning against the doorframe, wrapped in the comforter from the bed.

"Yeah."

"Is she alright?"

"That's a loaded question with Claire."

"Is the world ending?"

Chris felt the words in his spine, goosebumps spreading across his skin at the question. It was a running joke between them from the early days of the BSAA. Calls would pour in with supposed tip-offs about suspected bio-terrorism activity, and it became exhausting the amount of false alarms the BSAA was obligated to investigate. Every day there was a briefing on the impending apocalypse, and very rarely was it of any concern or relevance to them. Jill would ask him the question as she sipped from the break room's bitter coffee, forcing him to crack a smile as he memorized mission briefings. Things had gotten a lot easier with money and support. She hadn't had to ask the question as often.

She hadn't asked the question since the night Spencer was found.

Chris forced his eyes shut, blocking out the shattering glass and howling wind.

She moved closer to him, stopping a few inches away and pressing her hand to the side of his face in an effort to get him to look at her.

"Not today," he murmured.

She nodded, smiling at him in the dark, fingers tracing the stubble on his face. The scrapes and bruises had faded, but he still looked so tired; so beaten down.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

"No," he touched his forehead to hers timidly. "I think I'm too awake."

Jill nodded, picking invisible lint from the worn cotton t-shirt Chris had worn to bed. He never slept fully clothed. Another barrier between them.

"Do you want to grab breakfast from Tilly's? It's the only place open this early."

"Tilly's closed down. There's a new bagel shop a few blocks over."

"Oh." Jill had thought about adjusting and what it entailed during her time in the hospital; mainly how to reverse a certificate of death and resume living, but it was the little things that ate at her the most; things she had never even considered. Claire's hair was longer, Leon's a few shades lighter than she remembered, and Rebecca's was shorter. Chris's physical build had changed along with the way he carried himself and the world in quick, hardened strides. Even the landscaping outside of the apartment complex was different. Tiny little nuances that drove her insane.

"...you like so much."

"Huh?"

"I said they have that weird spread with the onions and cheeses you like so much." He repeated himself slowly, watching her face in the dim morning light to make sure she was okay.

"Oh, okay. That sounds good."

"Are you alright?" The question felt like a lyric stuck in his head, repeating over and over until he remembered what followed.

"I just zoned out. I loved Tilly's."

They spent their mornings before work there, eating breakfast and sipping coffee. Laughing and brushing knees like teenagers. In love.

Pretending to be normal.

* * *

><p>Rebecca crept into the apartment quietly, setting the spare key and access card on the counter where Chris had left them for her. Her note remained in its place. Careful steps carried her toward the guest bedroom, where she sat her purse on the floor and shrugged her jacket from her shoulders, assessing the neatly made bed she had abandoned the previous night.<p>

_"I've got some things to take care of, but I'll be back here later tonight. I'll call you."_

She sat down and smoothed out a small crinkle in the comforter, hands aware of how chilled the fabric was. Another reminder of solitude.

Rebecca had learned to adjust to living alone. By the time she was 18, she had lived in a dorm for the better part of her teenage years. By 19, her name was at the top of every headhunter working for Umbrella's list. Needless to say, she could hold her own. It was only when Billy would randomly re-insert himself into her life that she felt so aware of the romantic void in her life.

It was stupid and made her feel insecure, and girls who graduated med school at 18 should not be worried about boys who were wanted felons - innocence be damned.

_"See you tonight, princess."_

She sighed, pulling open her laptop and skimming through her email. She told herself she wasn't checking for him.

_Dr. Chambers,_

_I've arranged a few appointments for you today to seek housing near HQ. The building you lived in prior to your departure has availability, but I thought you might want some change. An agent will escort you from my office and see to it that you get the information you need today at 10am._

_Please let me know if this is inconvenient for you, and I will see to it that other arrangements are made._

_Regards,_

_Corp. Weiss_

Rebecca chewed on her bottom lip. She was perturbed at the fact that he was already proceeding as if she had renewed her contract. Her eyes darted over to the papers on her desk and the blank lines requiring her signature, fingerprint, and the date.

It wouldn't hurt to look at housing; she knew Chris and Jill needed their space to work out the insurmountable issues they were quietly whispering and slamming doors about as she pretended to sleep.

It would hurt to find a place suitable to call home, again.

Pen met paper and Rebecca cringed as she scrawled her signature across the lines, filling in the blanks.

* * *

><p>"Do you want to go back home?" His voice was timid, unsure.<p>

Home was such a heavy word.

Jill shook her head. "No, I want to see everything that I've missed."

He sat still, considering her for a moment before cranking the car and putting it into reverse. He didn't really know what she was looking for, but he would give her what she wanted. He always had.

The sun had started to rise, and traffic was becoming heavier as people began to fall into their daily routine. Morning joggers sporadically littered the sidewalks, weaving between people walking with and without purpose to their jobs or errands. Jill stared at them through the passenger window, unfairly judging and envying them for their sense of normalcy.

The car came to a stop at a red light, and an SUV pulled next to them, blocking her view of the outside world. Jill frowned for a moment, before staring into the offending vehicle. Two children sat in the backseat, digging through backpacks and laughing as their mother talked from the front seat.

The light changed and the SUV followed a line of cars down the road to the local elementary school, and Chris remained straight, heading further into the city.

It seemed like such a trivial thing to long for, but her heart ached as the SUV became a tiny blur in the distance.

"Do you ever think about if things were different?"

"Different how?"

"If we hadn't joined S.T.A.R.S.?"

"We wouldn't have met."

Jill sighed at his obstinance. "Okay, then if we hadn't been the unit involved that night? If Umbrella had some secret lab in some other town and Raccoon wasn't a hole in the ground and S.T.A.R.S. still existed?"

"Of course I've thought about it," Chris stopped the car with the flow of traffic, turning his head toward her. "How could I not?"

"What do you think we would be doing right now?"

"I don't know, Jill, I -"

"Just answer the question," her eyes locked with his, desperate and pleading. "Please."

"Maybe we'd still be in Raccoon, or hopefully we would have gotten promotions to another unit there or somewhere else. We'd have a house with a yard, maybe a dog - a big dog, not one of those tiny ones that jump and run in circles and yap all the time."

"What about a cat?"

"Yeah, sure, a cat, too. For you."

"Kids?"

A car honked behind him and he realized traffic had begun to move. He pressed the accelerator harder than he intended, and averted his eyes back to the road.

"One with another on the way."

Jill gazed at him, watching as he clenched his jaw, willing away an emotion. "Two kids, huh?"

"Yeah. Just a few years apart."

"Like you and Claire?"

"Like me and Claire."

"Are we married?"

"If you want to be."

"No, are we married?"

"Yeah, we're married. Big ass ceremony. Everyone came. Barry, Kathy and the kids, Forest and the rest of the guys. Barry walked you down the aisle, but your dad gave his blessing. Claire and Rebecca were both your maids of honor because you didn't think it was fair to pick just one."

"Was Barry your best man?"

"Only one responsible enough to keep up with the rings."

"Where did we honeymoon?"

Chris arched an eyebrow at her, switching lanes to circle back around to where they had started from. He realized they had never talked of these things before. He thought of the ring locked away in a safety deposit box for the better half of the last decade.

"An island sounds nice, but it also sounds like more of a vacation than a honeymoon. I guess the two are kind of intertwined?" She started rambling in his silence, and he nodded in agreement. "I've always wished I could see the mountains more. Stay holed up in a ski lodge or a cabin for a week, like that one you used to show me pictures of."

Chris chuckled. "That wasn't in the mountains; it was more _uphill_ than anything."

"I know, but you get what I'm saying."

"I do." He placed his hand over hers.

"I guess it's kind of silly to talk about these things."

"I don't think it is."

"They'll never happen."

"They won't happen in that way, no, but it doesn't mean it will never happen."

"You still want all those things?"

He squeezed her hand. "Yeah, I want those things."

For a moment, the words filled the ache in her heart.

She watched the world pass by through the window.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Originally, this chapter was a lot longer, but I didn't feel the flow was right, so I've moved a lot of it over into the next chapter. Sorry to keep you waiting, it's been a busy couple of months. Things take precedence over my writing (as much as I wish they didn't), but it isn't in any way intentional. I know what it's like to be kept waiting for a story, but it makes me appreciate updates that much more. Thank you to those of you have been kind enough to stick with me on this. As always, please review.<strong>


	20. Out of Practice

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Twenty: Out of Practice**

"Claire!"

She turned, grabbing her to-go order from the counter and looking through the crowd of people to see who had called her name.

"Rebecca?" She shoved her change into her purse and made her way through the crowded deli toward the woman standing just inside the doorway. "What brings you over to this side of town?"

"House hunting and lunch," she held up a paper bag. "I used to love this place before I moved."

"Yeah, it's everyone's favorite," Claire grumbled as a suit bumped into her without apology. "Wait...house hunting? Are you moving back?"

Rebecca's eyes went to her feet as she nodded. "I think so, I haven't officially accepted the BSAA's offer, but I haven't exactly declined it either."

Claire sensed the trepidation and guided Rebecca toward the exit and to an empty table outside the restaurant. "Chris mentioned you had been offered your old job back."

"He wants me to take it. I know his heart is in the right place, it's just a lot to consider," she paused. "It's a lot to get back into. Not like it ever really leaves you, but..."

"...but it's easier to forget about when your entire job isn't dedicated to it?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I'm sure my brother's heart is in the right place, but 90% of the time his head isn't, so just remember that."

Rebecca laughed quietly. "Your brother's a good guy."

Claire nodded, popping a fry into her mouth. "That's what they keep telling me. Did you find any places you liked?"

"I've got it narrowed down to two, _if_ I do stay. One is in the building I was living in before, and the other is in that newer complex a few blocks over."

"Off Richmond?"

"I think so, yeah."

"That's where I live."

"Really? Then I guess it is pretty secure."

"A lot of BSAA and TerraSave live there, so we're a pretty boring bunch. The amenities are pretty awesome, though. I almost talked Chris into moving there last year when it opened."

"Why didn't he?"

"Couldn't stand to leave that apartment. It was too final for him to move out of it," Claire swallowed a sip of her soda, eager to change the subject. "But hey, if you have any questions about the complex, let me know. I can show you around better than some agent."

"Thanks, I really would like to be in somewhere by next week if at all possible. The BSAA is offering to have everything shipped for me as part of their relocation allowance."

Claire arched an eyebrow. "Sounds like you've already committed to the idea of staying."

Rebecca sighed. "Honestly, I've already looked up flights for tomorrow so I can head home and spend some time with my parents before I start packing. They're not really happy about the career decision I'm making."

"I can't imagine anyone's parents would be."

Rebecca nodded, remembering Chris and Claire were orphans. "I worry about them just as much as they do me - _anyone_ could be a target, you know? That's why I keep them pretty shielded from a lot of it. I don't want them to know too much for their own good - for their own _sanity_ for that matter."

"I don't think these are really decisions we can make for ourselves, rather they're made for us. You said it yourself, you can't ever truly wash your hands of this. It doesn't matter how many suits and soldiers and feds get involved," Claire paused, watching Rebecca's eyes fall to her half-eaten food. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this conversation to get so serious. I'm sure it's the last thing you want to think about right now."

"No, it's good. I need to remember what I'm stepping back into. I'm a little out of practice."

"I felt the same way when I took time off to finish college, and then Leon called and told me about a friend of his that was trying to get TerraSave off the ground and needed someone with more expertise in what they were dealing with and it was like I had never missed a beat."

"Speaking of Leon, how is he doing?"

Claire pursed her lips, trying to contain her frustration at the agent who hadn't contacted her in nearly eight hours. Not that she was keeping count.

"He had a lead on some new information that could be of use to us."

Rebecca thought to the file of evidence sitting on her desk, wondering if she should give it to Claire before she gave it to Chris. The BSAA would inevitably turn the intel over to TerraSave for preliminary investigations, but how was she going to explain who she got it from? An anonymous tip didn't make sense, and Jill was the only person she had ever told about Billy.

The shrill ring of Claire's cell phone startled both of them.

"Shit, that's my cue to get back to the office. I'll call you when I get off work and give you a tour if you want."

Rebecca watched Claire as she hurried down the street back to her office.

Jill was in no condition to worry about another virus. She would have to tell Chris.

"Shit."

* * *

><p>When Chris was exhausted (more so than normal), he slept flat on his back, mouth partially open with the back of one hand draped over his eyes and the other flat against his abdomen. Jill had seen this position more oft than not in their years together, and it was secretly her favorite. Even with an arm and leg draped across her; protecting her and holding her close, she felt as if he was never really resting. Here, he looked vulnerable, completely surrendered to a foreign concept such as sleep; an idea suggested not by her, but rather the medicinal routine she found herself in.<p>

11:47am.

She was lethargic, but she was wide awake. Chris was not.

She propped herself up on one arm, freeing her other hand to slide beneath the comforter to rest on his stomach. He was warm, as usual, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. The cotton of his shirt was thin, but it was enough of a barrier between her skin and his to make her feel angry and brave all at the same time.

Her fingers smoothed a trail over the fabric to his boxers, where she hooked two fingers inside the elastic waistband, fingertips barely grazing the skin beneath. Chris was unmoving, but she remained still, hesitant to push her luck. If he were to awaken, she would be mortified.

But _why_?

It should have come completely natural to her. They had been intimate for years; she knew him like she knew herself.

_'What if you don't remember?'_

She squeezed her eyes shut and thought about the way he felt inside her; how his hands roamed and clutched and bruised in all the right places; their first and second and tenth time, and the heat and friction between them; how Chris sounded when he was close and the look on his face when she would take him into her mouth.

Things she had forced herself to forget with Wesker.

Jill pursed her lips together and swallowed down the sob she knew was coming. She didn't want to think about any of it, especially not now. But as much as she willed herself not to, the fear of rejection remained stagnant in her chest. She steadied herself, fingers slipping timidly into his boxers, before taking him into her hand and starting to work him slowly.

_'He's going to wake up and push you away any second now.'_

Her pace quickened as he started to get hard, and she watched as his mouth parted to sigh deeply. His eyes opened, slowly and confused at first, before his pupils met hers, overtaking the iris completely. Their gazes locked and her beautiful blues silently begged him not to speak, not to chase her courage away with comforting words.

And he didn't, because he couldn't have spoken if he had tried. His skin was on fire and his heart was racing, completely disconnected from his brain. Better judgment told him to ask her if this was okay and reassure her she didn't have to do anything she wasn't ready for, but he couldn't bring himself to stop her, even for just a second. Not when she was here and she was touching him like that.

His fingers twisted in the sheets as he resisted touching her back, until she slid closer to him and he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face into her neck until all he could smell was his own body wash because he had forgotten to buy her the soap she liked because the last time he had bought soap and toothpaste and deodorant, she was still dead.

_"There's nothing left of me here!"_

The words echoed in his mind, begging an apology from his lips that was lost in his muffled sighs of pleasures. He thought about graveyard shifts fooling around in the squad patrol car and those innocent first few times drunkenly groping on her couch; she thought of him in the shower and if she had been replaced during her absence.

"_Jill..._" She recognized the guttural tone immediately; he was close and his hands were fumbling beneath the cotton of the shirt she wore, fingers dancing dangerously near places her body needed him to touch.

But it was too much. She wasn't ready for him to have that kind of control over her, and as he came, she moved away from him, pulling the edges of the oversized t-shirt back over her skin and out of reach of his hands.

She saw the sadness and guilt in his eyes for a split second before he rolled out of their bed and headed toward the dresser to grab a new pair of boxers before entering the bathroom to clean himself up. He returned moments later and sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and then the stubble across his face. He was nervous, embarrassed.

She wanted to apologize; to explain to him what it felt like to need him and to be utterly terrified of having him all at once. She wanted to make him understand how her skin could burn and turn to freezing so quickly.

"Does it remind you of being with him?" His eyes never met hers.

She felt the heat in her skin turn from quiet passion to defensive anger.

"I don't want to talk about that right now."

"I'm just trying to understand, Jill."

"I find it hard that you could," she regretted the words as they left her mouth, grappled to avoid conflict. "It's not like that."

He smoothed his hands over his new boxers, wiping the clammy sweat from his palms that had suddenly gathered. "What's it like then?"

She closed her eyes, afraid to meet his stare even though his gaze hadn't left the comforter. "I can't just shut everything off, Chris."

"I didn't ask you to." Honest, not hostile.

"Do you think about me with him? About all that I've done?"

His fingers curled against the sheets, knuckles whitening before they unfurled flat.

"Yes." The grainy footage of the brief kiss flashed into his mind. The hand on the small of her back, guiding her along a path of carnage.

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut until he saw colors. "You've got nothing to apologize for. That wasn't you."

"I'm so afraid of what you think of me."

He turned to face her, watching as Jill's face contorted from stoic to grief-stricken and back again, like a sharp, stabbing pain.

"I saw you last night in the shower, and I just wanted you so badly," her breath hitched, voice cracking under emotion. "But then I can help but wonder if you look at me and see him in this stupid blonde hair and these fucking scars, and if you have to think about someone else instead. And that thought alone infuriates me, Chris. It makes me feel weak and stupid."

"You are anything but weak and stupid, Jill Valentine."

They sat there, assessing each other quietly.

"It doesn't."

"What?"

"You don't make me think about him."

Chris nodded at her clarification, stretching his legs back under the covers and settling back down.

"It was you."

She moved closer to him, pressing her face into his chest to hide her flushing cheeks as he assuaged her fears in a few words.

"It's always you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This chapter did not go in the direction I wanted it to at all and I'm actually pretty displeased with the turnout, but after a few rewrites, I felt there was nothing else to be done. Re-establishing Chris and Jill's intimate relationship is hard to put into words, and I wanted to get that across in these scenes rather than make them sappy and drawn out, because I don't feel that's appropriate for this. They should reflect fear and anger and hesitation and I hope I got that point across at least a little bit. As always, I appreciate the reviews!<strong>


	21. Make Do

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Make Do**

The first time he had kissed her since her return came one week later, in the middle of the night, after she woke up in a fit of tears clutching her chest and gasping for air against an invisible weight. He had placed one hand over hers, the other gently cradling her face. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she knew his lips were moving, whispering words of comfort. The world hadn't stopped spinning until he had pressed his lips to hers gently, pulling away as quickly as it had happened to quietly apologize. She had caught her breath, met his eyes, and kissed him back.

Two weeks later, she had watched as Chris painted the walls of their bedroom (_"Fuck what the lease says about permanently altering the appearance or whatever, I'll forfeit the security deposit"_); a light grey over the bland white, as a way to combat the nightmares she had of waking up in white sheets in a white room staring up at white lights with the devil in black leaning over her (Dr. Pearce had helped Jill understand her triggers better, and she knew they could come in all shapes and sizes). She had blushed when his shirt crept up to expose new muscles as he painted the higher parts of the walls, but she hadn't looked away. She had cried into his shoulder and neck when she remembered the blood and destruction, and she had let him hold her against his body as they stood in the shower to wash it all away.

It felt new and familiar and like home all at once.

These steps, however small, had lulled her into a sense of security for the last few weeks that had helped mend wounds she thought would never heal. She was learning to be comfortable with herself and their friends; learning to be comfortable with Chris and their relationship and what that entailed. For the most part, she was doing okay.

Today, was different.

Today, she was to meet with superiors at the BSAA to talk about her re-assignment (or whether or not she would in fact return). But first, she had an appointment with Dr. Pearce to reconcile everything that had been happening over the last few weeks.

Jill Valentine, the war hero.

Jill Valentine, prisoner of war.

Jill Valentine, in loving memory.

Jill Valentine, the traitor.

Jill Valentine, the ghost.

It was easy for people outside of the situation to categorize her, but how did she see herself now?

* * *

><p>"Good morning, Jill."<p>

"Hi."

Dr. Pearce entered her office, setting down a small cup of coffee in front of Jill and taking a sip from her own. "Shall we begin?"

Jill nodded, sipping from the cup gratefully and awaiting the barrage of questions she was sure would fill this meeting. She thought of Chris waiting nervously outside and wondered if he had ventured off to the gym, or if he was already talking to Weiss and the others about his own return. They hadn't spoken much about either of their feelings toward returning to work, but she knew Chris wasn't one for complete domestication, and she had a feeling that while she knew he wanted to be there for her in every capacity possible, he was anxious to return to active duty. Kijuju was considered a crucial success for the BSAA's record; the aftermath could mean anything.

"Are you still on track to speak with the BSAA about returning to work today?"

"If all goes well here, yes."

"Do you _want_ to return to work?"

Jill paused, gripping the coffee cup tighter as she thought over her words. She didn't want to sound indecisive, but she had been grappling with the decision for the better part of the last few weeks and still hadn't come to a conclusion.

"It's okay to be unsure, Jill. Not many people are eager to return to the line of duty after experiencing a situation like yours."

"Well, how many people have honestly experienced _my_ situation?" Sarcasm had always been a very loyal friend.

Thankfully, Dr. Pearce ignored the comment and continued on, used to Jill's defense mechanisms at this point in their relationship. "Have you spoken to Chris about this? Or anyone?"

"Not really. A good friend of ours just re-accepted her former position with the BSAA, and I know Chris has no qualms about returning to active duty."

"How do you feel about this?"

"I'm fine with it," Jill averted her gaze to the lid of her coffee, feeling Dr. Pearce's eyes imploring her. "I guess."

"You guess?"

"I would never tell him not to return to work; it's just what we do, Dr. Pearce, and I accepted that a long time ago but..." there was a pregnant pause as she weighed what she was going to say next in her head. "I...sometimes, I get very frustrated with him in regards to these decisions."

"Frustrated?"

"Yes. After all we've sacrificed...sometimes it's a lot to process."

"Because you threw yourself out of a window to save his life, and he wants to return to the same job that put you both in that situation?"

She was blunt. Jill realized it was probably what she liked most about her as she nodded in response.

"There are plenty of positions at the BSAA that don't require active duty. Your knowledge and expertise could be invaluable to other positions."

"You clearly don't know Chris very well."

Dr. Pearce smiled. "I've spoken to him a few a times, but my suggestion was geared more toward you than him."

Jill swallowed the last bit of her coffee and set the empty cup aside. "Chris and I have been partners for a very long time."

"I doubt Captain Redfield is going to think of less of you if you relinquish your active duty status. You've given more than anyone else in this fight has and come back alive, wouldn't you say?"

Jill felt her cheeks flush at the accolades.

"Does Chris look down on his sister for her position with intel?"

"No, Chris adores Claire. If anything, I think he wishes she would resign from this entirely and live a normal life, but he gave up that fight a long time ago."

"And your friend who just resumed her position? What does she do?"

"She's a doctor, head of virology and pathology. She quit after I - well, she just moved back here. It was a hard decision for her, too."

"What do you think made her decide to come back?"

"I haven't really spoken to her. She's been out of town visiting relatives and tying up loose ends. She just got back last week and has been moving into her new apartment and re-establishing her security clearances and Chris and I have been spending time to ourselves. We had dinner with her, after the BSAA had helped move her things in and had cleared the area as safe...but it was light conversation. I don't think anyone wants to talk about it, really, especially not around me," Jill smoothed out her jeans. "I think she felt guilty, leaving."

"Why?"

"I think she felt like she should have stayed here for Chris, like she owed it to him - to everyone that stayed."

"People cope with tragedy in different ways."

"I know, and Chris doesn't hold anything against her. If anything, he was probably relieved when she left. It was one less person he had to worry about protecting. He knew she would come back, he said that one night over dinner. Rebecca is good at what she does, and if anyone should be leading that department, it's her."

"Would you go so far as to say that Chris respects her?" As she nodded, she realized the point Dr. Pearce was trying to prove. "What makes you any different from Rebecca or Claire? That you're partners?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"I think you're making it more complicated than it has to be out of fear of admitting to yourself that maybe you don't want to be on the front lines of this fight anymore even though Chris does. I think you, more than anyone, feel it is a sign of weakness on your part to walk away for another opportunity that may suit you better. Returning to active duty so quickly after everything your psyche has had to endure could completely set back all of the progress you have made."

"How can Chris be so ready to go back?" The question came out in a whisper, and she instantly hated how weak it sounded.

"That's a question you are going to have to ask him, and if you have any fears or qualms about his decision, you need to express these to him. But if you're willing to respect the choices he makes, then I'm sure he's going to accept the ones you make," Dr. Pearce stopped, flipping through a few pages in her notes before she continued. "How are the triggers?"

"They're better. They come less often now. I still have nightmares and I still feel anxious, but I can feel an improvement." Jill thought to her last episode; the feeling of fear and panic ebbing away at her in the middle of the night, suffocating her hold on sanity.

"Good, I'm going to write you a prescription for a lower dosage of medication and we're going to trade your anti-depressants out for a small dosage of anti-anxiety pills," seeing Jill's face fall, she continued, "but hopefully very soon you won't require any of this. Time will tell."

"Will the need for medication interfere with my chances at re-assignment?"

"It could, yes, but I don't want you to concern yourself with that right now. What about social situations? Have you been trying to get out more?"

"Yes. Chris and I see Claire at least once a week, if not more, and we just helped Rebecca rearrange her apartment. We see Leon, if he's around or in town. We've done normal things, like grocery shopping and well, shopping for me since I don't have much of anything."

"And how has that been? Any anxiety at all? Feelings of dread?"

"To go to the mall? Yes, but I dreaded going to the mall before everything. It's crowded no matter when you go."

Dr. Pearce matched Jill's wry smile. "And what about Chris? Aside from avoiding your plans for future employment, how is your relationship?"

"It's coming along...slowly. Sometimes, I feel like he's afraid that he's going to scare me or hurt me and it makes me feel like he's afraid of me. He's very delicate around me, and I wish he wouldn't be. I can tell he watches the things he says and the things he does. Every now and then we fall into this pattern of how we used to be, and then it's like he realizes it and everything changes back to this forced walking on eggshells routine." Jill ran her hands through her hair out of frustration. "And before you ask, no, I haven't told him to cut the shit because that's just who he is. He's protective and gentle, and how can I be angry at him for that? After all he went through to find me and what he's still going through now?"

"I'm sure Chris feels like he's doing the right thing, and I know you don't want to hurt his feelings, but if you're ready for things to be more normal in your relationship, you're going to have to make him aware of that, Jill. Communicate with him, let him know how he's doing and how you're doing."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Well things are much easier said than done, that has always held true. No matter the circumstances. Now, what other progresses have you made with him? I know we spoke about physical contact being a difficult hurdle. Is that still hindering your relationship?"

"Yes and no," Jill began fidgeting, as she always did when she started to get nervous during their sessions. "We've...we've made physical contact a few times, but we haven't had sex."

"Do you feel like this is progress?"

"Yes. I want to have sex, and he knows that. I know he's waiting on me to make the first move...to initiate it. God, I sound like a fucking teenager. We've been together a decade. It shouldn't be this hard."

Dr. Pearce smiled warmly. "Time doesn't make all things easier."

Jill scoffed, nodding in agreement as she glanced around Dr. Pearce's office, skimming the spines of books and framed diplomas, accreditations, and photographs. She frowned, pausing on a new addition to the wall she had stared at for hours over the last several weeks.

"That's my brother. My mom had the photo framed for my birthday and sent it to me."

She remained quiet, unsure of what to say. Jill hadn't known Dr. Pearce's brother, only that he had been killed in Raccoon City.

"It took a long time to get over, especially with all the questions that were left unanswered. My parents wrote it off as a freak accident. It made it easier to cope, I guess, but I couldn't accept that."

"I remember my dad asking a lot of questions when I called to let him know I was still alive months later. He said the news reports were filled with holes and none of it made sense, but people just seemed to keep passing it off as another great American tragedy."

"Have you spoken to your dad since your return?"

"Chris called him when we first got back while I was still in the hospital to let him know I was alive. I called him for the first time last week. I'd like to go up and visit him, but I want to be ready."

"Is he still..."

"In prison? Yes, he is, which is why I want to make sure I don't look weak or crazy in front of him," she laughed nervously. "We don't get to communicate very often and I don't want him worrying about me more than he already has had to over the last few years. I try to keep him out of the loop on this as much as possible."

"So you still have a good relationship?"

Jill sighed. "My dad's made a lot of mistakes, but he's what I have left."

Dr. Pearce started writing, and Jill shook her head, realizing the conversation would be brought up again.

"Well, Jill, our time is almost up," Dr. Pearce set her notes to the side and stood to shake Jill's hand and see her out. "I have a quick summary to write up about your progress and I'm going to get these prescriptions sent to our in-house pharmacy so they're ready before you leave here today."

"Okay."

"I want you to be honest in your meeting. I'm going to give you clearance to return to work, but if you are offered and choose to re-instate an active duty title, I am going to caution you and your superiors on the risks as I think it's all just too soon. I'd like to talk to Chris as well, if that's okay with you."

While Jill smiled and nodded at the right times, she couldn't help but feel the cold grip of fear settling in as she left the appointment.

* * *

><p>"My intel check out?"<p>

"It did, the funny thing is, I never had to tell anyone because Leon had identical information and handed it over to Claire."

"Pretty boy secret agent? He say where he got it from?"

"He was vague, said he got it from an old friend and no one seems to be pressing him much about it."

"Hmm."

"This woman who paid you..."

Billy sighed into the phone. "If she handed the information over to him, she's obviously playing on the same team."

"You don't know her name or anything?"

"She doesn't know mine. What's it matter? You guys have what you need to get a good jump on this."

"You don't think it's weird that you just so happened to sell this to a woman that delivers it straight to a government agent?"

"Lotta people been burned by Umbrella and their friends, princess."

"Why are you protecting her?"

_"Please deposit 25 cents."_

"That's my cue. Talk to you soon."

And he was gone.

Rebecca sighed, swiping the number from her recent contacts list.

Claire had spoken of a woman named Ada Wong on a few occasions, typically partaking in a bitter diatribe about spies and how foolish Leon was when it came to her.

She blamed this for why she was wondering if someone else had gotten under Billy's skin.

* * *

><p>"Captain Redfield, it's good to see you."<p>

"Dr. Pearce."

"Please have a seat."

"Ah, no thanks, I'd rather stand."

She shrugged, sitting back down behind her desk. "I just wanted to let you know I've made some alterations to Jill's medications. She's on a lower dosage and I've swapped her anti-depressants for anti-anxiety medication. If all goes well with this change, we will be able to pursue doing away with medication entirely. Of course, that could be weeks from now or years from now. It's hard to tell."

"That's good to hear."

"Yes, Jill has progressed wonderfully, especially in such a short period of time. It's remarkable really, and I just want to make it clear that the prospect of a relapse is still very much in existence."

"I'm aware."

"Good, which is why I am going to clear her to return to work, but I hope you understand that Jill should be under no pressure to return at all if she does not want to. I don't recommend a position in active duty, and I fear that is what she may pursue. She wants her life to return to normal, and she wants that as quickly as possible, which is understandable. Who wouldn't? The problem is, I fear she can only take so much so fast."

Chris folded his arms across his chest, nodding.

"Chris, please take a seat. You act as if you're still my patient."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I've been out of town, had the flu, and have been managing life (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). I realize this chapter was very dialogue driven, but it's a necessary filler to move toward wrapping it up and tying up loose ends. Again, thank you all for continuing to stick this out with me and thank you to the new readers I have picked up along the way. Please review!<strong>


	22. Heavy

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Heavy**

_"Is there anything you would like to start with?"_

_He remained still, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket and his eyes focused on the ground._

_"It can be anything, Captain Redfield. We don't have to discuss Lieutenant Valentine."_

_"Isn't that why I'm here? To mourn with medical supervision?" His voice was gruff and void of emotion._

_Dr. Pearce crossed her legs and sat her notes to the side. "You're here to get things off your chest. The BSAA wants to provide the best help it can for you."_

_"I'm here every Monday and Wednesday at 9 am until the BSAA decides I'm not a danger to myself and/or others and can get back to work."_

_"Do you want to return to work?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Do you feel obligated, or maybe a need to get your mind off of what has happened to you?"_

_"People are depending on me."_

_"Captain Redfield, I'm sure that your presence at work is missed, but I am also certain that they would like for you to take the time to heal."_

_"I don't have time."_

_"You've been given as much leave as you need."_

_Chris scoffed, pulling his hands from his pockets to wipe the exhaustion from his face as she continued to express the benefits of utilizing the fullest extent of his leave, and how it wasn't to be seen as a step backward or a sign of weakness. She continued on about the stigma of therapy in their line of work, about understanding how people cope in different ways, and reassuring him that just because he didn't feel up to talking yet didn't mean he wouldn't._

_He wanted to light up a cigarette and tell her they never found a body and that every second he wasted sitting in therapy was another second Jill was stuck with a monster._

_But he knew the moment he let that slip, the longer he would be ordered to seek leave. They would think he was crazy._

_Maybe he was crazy._

_But they never found a body._

* * *

><p>"Redfield," Claire cradled the office phone between her ear and shoulder, shuffling through the morning's paperwork. "Shit!" She let the phone slip away from her ear as she rushed to grab the coffee cup that nearly spilled across a stack of documents on the side of her desk. She sighed, closing her eyes and counting to ten until she heard a muffled call of her name and remembered the phone.<p>

"Claire? Hello?"

"Leon?"

A chuckle came from the other end of the line. "Rough morning?"

"You could say that," she felt a deep frown creasing her face. They hadn't spoken more than a few words to each other since he had hand-delivered the evidence Ada had gathered to TerraSave over a week ago. "How are you?"

"Buried under paperwork I've been neglecting since my leave."

"Paperwork? I thought they just paid you to stand next to the President and look pretty."

He laughed shortly, and she could tell he was stifling a retort, letting her have this one. "Listen, I'm overseeing the security investigation on Tricell and the Gionne family on this end. I'll be able to keep you and Chris in the know...just in case."

She realized what he was hinting at. "I don't think Tricell has anything to do with this, Leon. You said it yourself, it has to be an entirely new player."

"I know, but keep your friends close and your enemies closer right? Who's to say no previous employees sought work elsewhere? How's it going on your end?"

Claire swallowed from the nearly toppled over coffee cup. "Investigating origin dates of any subsidiaries or newer companies that could be part of the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium. Since Umbrella and Tricell both wound up as major oversights on their part, it's not far fetched to assume someone else could be funding their research under the guise of legality."

"The BSAA and TerraSave have already received backing from the UN. I don't think the GPC is going to be around much longer, at least not in its current format."

"I don't either, which is why we're paying close to attention to anyone trying to jump ship now."

"How are Jill and your brother?"

"Jill is dealing. She's talking a lot more, but she and Chris spend more alone time together now that Rebecca is moved into her own place. Chris says she has good days and bad days. They have a meeting with the BSAA today about their leave of absence."

"How are you doing?"

"I told you, I'm just as buried under this as you are -"

"No, Claire, how are _you_ doing?"

She leaned back, gripping the phone in her hands as she watched other TerraSave employees walking by through the pebbled glass. "I'm alright."

"Bullshit."

"I don't want to do this right now." An order, verging on a plea.

"I'll be in town this weekend, if you're free."

"I'm free."

"I'll see you Friday night then."

She waited for the dial tone before placing the receiver back on its cradle.

Of all the problems Claire Redfield had, Leon Kennedy was by far the most troubling.

* * *

><p>When Chris didn't move to take a seat, Dr. Pearce sighed and continued. "If her nightmares or hallucinations increase or you feel she is withdrawing more, then I want you to bring her in immediately."<p>

"Alright." He was short. This wasn't the first time she had personally updated him on Jill's progress. It _was_ the first time she had mentioned his previous appointments with her.

"I'm going to clear her to return to work, under the strong advice that she does not go back into the field. At least not yet."

"So, strictly desk jobs?"

"Not necessarily, no. I just think combat is going to be a major trigger, one that I don't want her to discover under duress. Her options are something you will need to discuss with your superiors. I'm just here to make the best recommendations I can for her continued recovery."

Chris nodded. "That it?"

"This may be personal, and I don't want to overstep my bounds in our relationship," Dr. Pearce paused, watching Chris bristle at the mention of their acquaintance. "Does Jill know you were a patient of mine?"

"I've mentioned therapy in passing, but no details. I didn't want her distracted from her own recovery."

"It might be a good thing if you let her know she's not the only one who has sought therapy."

"I didn't seek therapy, I was under orders. As was she."

"Whatever the case may be, Captain Redfield, I think she feels slightly alone in this situation."

He relaxed his jaw, adjusting his stance as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I don't want her concerned about the state I was in while she was gone. I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of - coping mechanisms, as you call them."

"Just because you don't want her to worry, doesn't mean you can expect her to forget that you still existed while she was captured," Dr. Pearce leaned against her desk, folding her arms. "You knew, didn't you?"

"What?"

"When you were ordered to see me, it was to deal not only with the grief of Jill's passing, but with the _acceptance_ of Jill's passing. You had a team in that water for days searching for her body. You knew she wasn't dead."

"I knew it would take more than falling out of a window to kill Wesker. I've seen firsthand the amount of shit he could endure, and I knew if he had a way to hurt her or me, he'd seize the opportunity."

"You're a good liar, Captain. I told your superiors I had never seen a more hopeful case."

"The only way to start looking for her was to get back to work. In order to get back to work, I had to convince you I wasn't insane."

"I never thought you were insane."

"No? If I had told you I was pouring all of my energy and resources into tracking down Wesker and following every lead I could because I believed Jill to be held prisoner, would you have given me the all clear to return to duty?"

Dr. Pearce's lips thinned. "No, I guess not, but I wouldn't have thought you insane."

"I spent a long time fighting with myself about whether or not I thought she was dead. Part of me hoped for it, because I knew if Wesker had her..." Chris shook his head. "What Jill has endured is a lot worse than any pity party I was throwing for myself. If this helps her, then I'm glad for it. It might've helped me if I was looking for help."

"Well, off the record, evidently it's a plus that you're a good liar - at least good enough to fool me. Who knows where we would be if you had chosen the route of honesty..." she frowned, quieting her opinion as she thought of the last phone call she shared with her brother. "As much as you may feel like you haven't, you've saved her."

Chris's face remained stoic. "There anything else I can do to help her?"

"She just needs your support in whatever decision is made today. I can say nothing more. You know the binds of doctor-patient confidentiality."

He briefly remembered the first doctor who had attended to Jill; the look of fear on his face as the color quickly disappeared from his cheeks as Chris's grip on his lab coat tightened.

Chris nodded, turning to leave. "Thank you, Dr. Pearce."

She waved him off, hoping for the best.

* * *

><p>Jill ran a hand through her blonde hair and over her neck, feeling the cold sweat beginning to blanket her skin. Anxiety was never a pretty thing, and she realized Chris's hand against the small of her back was the only thing willing her toward their destination.<p>

They stopped behind a set of double mahogany doors that Jill recognized as one of the briefing rooms mainly used for mission overviews. It was sound proof, and located in the center of the floor so that it lacked windows. She suddenly longed for the suffocating elevator ride they had endured moments before.

Chris removed his hand from her back and chose to rest it on her shoulder, bringing his other hand to swipe hair out of her face again.

"Hey, it'll be alright. Whatever you decide."

"What about what they decide?" She asked meekly, terrified of the labels that could befall her.

_Traitor. Jeopardized agent._

"Listen to me, the charges against you were dropped during your hospitalization in the states on the basis of the P30," his voice was hushed as he glanced up to make sure the doors hadn't opened. It was then Jill remembered the camera positioned above the entry-way. "There are only a few people who know the nature of what went on. Your record for that period of time is sealed, along with all evidence - surveillance footage, reports, files; all of it. You are a founding member of the BSAA. If you go, we all go."

Jill swallowed the lump in her throat that had suddenly swelled in size and inhaled, furiously willing the tears pricking at her eyes to go away. She refused to show weakness, not in front of them.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded, steeling herself as he grabbed for her hand and pushed through the double doors. She kept her mind on Chris's grip as they entered the room, met by the stares of eight men and women, a majority of whom she recognized as fellow founders. Chris kept her hand firmly in his, and it calmed her slightly. They never showed affection in front of superiors, partly preferring to remember professionalism above all else and partly out of habit from their S.T.A.R.S. days. It was then that Jill realized the sign of affection wasn't just for her comfort or his, it was a blatant reminder to their superiors that she was still Jill Valentine.

After a few seconds of silence, the sound of broken clapping met her ears and Jill re-focused on the situation. The men and women were rising to their feet, their applause slowly gaining synchronicity. Her heart caught in her throat again, and she had to remind herself to smile as the room fell silent again.

Weiss sat at the head of the table, motioning politely for them to take the two empty seats closest to them. Jill, hesitated, preferring to stand in situations such as these, but followed Chris toward the vacant chairs.

Weiss smiled. "Very well then," he put his glasses on, skimming the file in front of him before returning his attention to Chris and Jill. "First, you will see that not all current founding members of the BSAA who remain members of the board are here. There is too much going on to afford to have everyone in one place. As you know, Kijuju was a major success for our side. We're regaining control of the situation in Africa with the help of Sheva Alomar and Josh Stone, we have more than enough evidence to seek action against Tricell and its founders, our top priority threat has been eliminated, and," he paused, holding his gaze on Jill. "Recovering one of our most important agents. I don't think I need to remind everyone that this is the most important and finest facet of the entire Kijuju operation."

Chris sighed. He had never been great a public speaking, but he was unsure how Weiss had moved from his position as an internal security consultant to a figurehead for the organization's government and legal ties in such a short time with as little tact as he seemed to have.

"Both Captain Refield and Lieutenant Valentine have been on a six week leave pending their psychological evaluations and own personal wishes to return, at which point we will then pursue a physical evaluation over the next week. Before we get to that, I need to address a few things: Captain Redfield, you deliberately refused your orders in regards to Irving in order to pursue your own personal leads pertaining to Lieutenant Valentine. Under normal circumstances, the refusal to obey an order would require some form of reprimand; however, due to the abnormality of these circumstances, no further action will be sought and you have subsequently been cleared to return to work."

Jill watched as Chris forced away the indignation creeping onto his face and failed, covering it with a cough. It wasn't uncommon for Chris to go against orders and suffer suspension, but the idea of facing punishment for finding her was laughable. She saw smiles form across the faces of a few occupants of the room.

Weiss continued on, unperturbed by the matter. "As for Lieutenant Valentine, all charges brought against you have long since been dropped by the BSAA and the US government after further investigation into your time held captive. You have also been cleared to return to work if you so wish, with a few limitations in regards to active duty and field combat. Is this correct?"

It took Jill a few seconds to realize he was asking her. "Yes sir."

"That doesn't mean you can't still regain your title of SOA, assuming you want it?"

Jill's breath hitched at the inflection; the question rather than a statement. She glanced down at Chris's hand which now rested protectively on her thigh.

"I want it."

It sounded so simple, so resolved in all of three words. The meeting continued on, with Weiss delivering accolades as well as information about their new backing from the UN, and Jill did her best to smile and nod. Chris's hand remained on her thigh, and she heard his voice in the haze of her thoughts, answering at the necessary times.

She felt exhausted, drained of every ounce of energy despite the fact she hadn't done much talking. Her mind was running rampant, conversations with herself tangling in endless worry. Had she truly wanted to return to work with the BSAA, or was it fear of change pinning her into this cage?

Time would tell.

* * *

><p>Chris tossed his jacket onto the back of the couch and sank slowly into the cushions. Jill followed suit, leaning her weight against his torso.<p>

"You're quiet."

"Mmm."

"What's goin' on?"

She parted her lips, tongue meeting the roof of her mouth to murmur out a quick "nothing" until she remembered she was supposed to be open; to be honest with him. "What if I can't do this anymore?"

"The BSAA?"

"I don't think I could survive this again."

Chris felt his chest constrict at her admission as he watched her bright blues brim with tears. He could think of nothing to assuage her fears; no words to properly levy the sentiment he intended.

He could no longer promise her safety - Wesker and the world had long since buried the credibility of that oath. Tragedy was in the job description, there was no other way around it. It was a burden they had promised to carry until the end.

But Jill had already suffered more than her fair share for the cause, and she had already met an end worse than what most faced.

"I'm not asking you to do anything," he mumbled quietly against her forehead, pressing his lips against her skin. "If you don't want to come back, then don't. You've given way more than anyone else ever could."

She flattened her palms against his chest, pushing him back so she could look him in the eyes. "And what about you?"

Chris shook his head. "I'm not done. Not yet."

He was too good to give up. She had never thanked him for that.

With a burst of confidence brought on by part frustration and part adoration, she clenched his shirt in her hands and pulled him toward her, kissing him with as much force as she could muster. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, thrown off by the intensity of her actions, but she didn't have time to be gentle. Weeks of tip-toeing around her fragility had made her desperate to feel anything, and she was in no mood for him to question her motives.

They repositioned so that she was on top, knees locked on either side of his thighs as he sank further into the couch. His hands settled nervously on the swell of her hips, fingers digging into the denim of her jeans as they continued to kiss. When his lungs felt like they were going to burst, Jill pulled away, swollen-lipped and wide-eyed, and reached to undo his belt.

He closed his eyes and felt her forehead touch his, her breathing slowing as she pulled his zipper down. Her hands left him to pull off her shirt, and Chris opened his eyes as she reached to unclasp her bra. His lips parted in surprise, and she saw his eyes darken with want in a gaze that never broke as he leaned forward, pressing his lips against her collarbone and teeth nipping a path carefully around her scar and toward her breasts. Jill let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as he ignored the brand on her chest, bringing his hands up to roam against flesh he had been denied for far too long. But when his thumb brushed her nipple softly, teasing, she decided she'd had enough.

"Bed. Now."

This time, Chris responded without hesitation. He wrapped his arms around her, hoisting her up as he stumbled out of his pants and toward their bedroom. He fell backward onto the bed, hands forcefully shoving Jill's panties and jeans down with a sharp jerk while she freed him from his briefs. He hissed as her hand found him, gripping and stroking his length before lowering herself onto him.

Chris brushed the hair from Jill's face, cupping her cheek as she moved slowly against him, finding a comfortable rhythm. She pressed a chaste kiss to his palm, eyes closed and breath hot against his hand as his thumb parted her lips. She wanted the control, and he wasn't going to fight her. Jill threw her head back, rhythm increasing in speed and intensity. Chris's hands fell to her hips, holding on to match her pace.

But it was going to end all too soon.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Thank you all for the continued to support. Please review!<strong>


	23. Mend

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Mend**

_"You're the problem."_

_She didn't speak; he hadn't given permission to defend herself._

_"You have a record for this sort of thing, don't you, Jill?"_

_But how could he have known that?_

_Inwardly, she screamed. Her muscles twitched, aching to tear him limb from limb._

_"I assure you, I do not take this as lightly as Refield did," he paused, cold and calculating as he removed his glasses, baring the fiery glow to her. "Or did he ever know what you lost him?"_

_The syringe numbed her to his words._

* * *

><p>Chris stood quietly, leaning against the doorway and watching as Jill skimmed through pages with print too tiny to read. She laid them down carefully into separate piles, scribbling a note every now and then before moving on to the next page. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, as it so often was when she was contemplating multiple things at once.<p>

"Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to come in and say hi to me?"

He shook his head, moving from the entryway and shutting the door behind him.

"Fancy set up you got here," he said, sitting down in a spare chair and propping his feet up on the desk as he craned his neck around to survey the surroundings. "Nice view of that good lookin' guy's desk the girls around here all talk about."

"Mm, I don't think he's that attractive. Needs to clean himself up a bit," she glanced Chris up and down pointedly, "and he likes to put his filthy boots on my clean desk."

"Couldn't stroke my ego a little bit?" He winked at her, removing his feet from her desk and standing halfway to press a quick kiss to her forehead before sitting back down.

"I don't think your ego needs anymore stroking, dear."

"I could think of a few things that need -"

Jill's phone rang, stifling his comment. He grinned as she rolled her eyes at him, trying to force the smile creeping across her face away.

"Valentine," she answered shortly. "Yeah, hang on just a second. I've got it pulled up already."

Chris tuned out the conversation as Jill began to talk, looking over the items sprawled across her desk. Jill had opted to remain out of the field for a while and had taken on a position as a strategic analyst, where she could remotely assist those who were in the field to better understand what they were up against. She had already helped oversee three successful missions since accepting the job, and Chris could think of no one more suited for the position, but it also meant he saw her less during the day-to-day grind at work.

He worried about her, and she knew it. It was why he stopped by her office as often as he could with a question he already knew the answer to; sometimes he didn't even try to make up an excuse, but rather showed up and stayed until he was needed elsewhere.

He turned the small double frame around on her desk, looking at a photo that had a smattering of members from the former S.T.A.R.S. during a mandatory training excursion in Arklay Forest; the other photo was one of just Chris and Jill, taken at random in the living room of what looked like Jill's former living room.

She had started the process of replacing photos in their apartment, which Dr. Pearce had noted was just another step forward. He noticed any of the old annual photos containing the entire S.T.A.R.S. team had remained in the box, as Wesker was at the center of them.

"I thought it'd be nice to have something to look at every now and then...besides that guy all the girls are always talking about."

Chris nodded, turning the photo away and swallowing down the nostalgia. He hadn't realized she was off the phone.

"That's about as recent as our photos get, you know. Save for our ID badges."

"I guess there hasn't really been time to take a lot of pictures lately." He thought of the giant framed photo they had placed in front of the coffin during the funeral. His chest tightened.

"I guess not," Jill frowned, noticing the sadness lurking behind his eyes. "How are the new recruits? Are there any left?"

Chris chuckled, forcing a smile to his face. "A few puked before the course was finished...a few backed out of their contracts at the last minute...same old same old."

"Your reputation precedes you then."

"That it does. How's your day goin'?"

"Rebecca called."

He tapped his fingers against his knee and brushed away dirt that had clumped around his pads, waiting for her to continue.

"They want to run some tests, which I'm okay with...I am. We knew going into this that there was no way to know what kind of lasting effects I was going to end up with, but..."

"But you don't want to know."

"I don't want to know."

It was Chris's turn to be interrupted, his cell phone screaming to life in the silence following Jill's admission. She watched him stare at the screen, contemplating whether to ignore it for her or take the call.

"Chris."

"I know, I know," he sighed, running his thumb over the screen. "Redfield...yeah, I'm on the way down."

"Is the world ending?"

"Not today."

Sometimes, familiarity could burn a hole deeper than any.

* * *

><p>"There's too much data to just ignore this."<p>

"I know."

"So what's going to happen?"

"You're going to transmit this through to the BSAA as you normally would. My end is already starting preliminary investigations."

Claire sat up, throwing the sheets from her body and grabbing her robe. She was angry, because it never stopped. Leon could feel it; the tension mounting. He only had a few days left before he was to return to D.C.; he didn't want to spend the next 24 hours fighting about something that was out of their hands.

"They just got back, Leon."

"No one said anything about deployment."

"That's what this will turn into! Chris re-instated himself as an active field agent. He's a goddamn Captain! Do you honestly think he's going to be able to sit this one out?"

Leon frowned, rubbing his eyes against the darkness still blanketing Claire's bedroom. He could barely make out her facial features as she paced across the carpeted floors, but he had them memorized - the furrowed brows, pursed lips, and the lines creasing her forehead as she thought of every worst case scenario.

"And Jill. What about her? How do you think she's going to respond to Chris taking off overseas to deal with more of this shit?"

"It hasn't even come to that yet."

"Stop bullshitting me."

"Claire, your brother knew what he was getting back into. I know it isn't fair, but it's our job. He can't walk away from this and neither can you or anyone else."

She hated how right he was. The "greater good" was nothing more than a disease spreading through them day by day; a life sentence that liked to promise a fate worse than death.

"How long do we have?"

"This could take years, Claire. Years. You know how these things go."

"It's been years. Over ten of them, if you want to start counting."

He wrapped his arms around her as she slipped back beneath the covers, crying quietly into his chest.

He wanted to tell her he counted every day.

* * *

><p><em>"Do you want me to get you anything?"<em>

_Jill shook her head, turning her gaze from the window to Rebecca._

_"I can stay here if you need me to."_

_"You've done enough for me already, Becs. The doctor said I wasn't very far along and that I would be fine."_

_She nodded, offering a weak smile that did nothing to hide her concern._

_"Do you want me to find out how long before we can get in contact with Chris's unit?"_

_Jill waved her hand, pulling the blanket wrapped around her shoulders tighter around her frame. "I don't want him to worry. He'll be home in a few days."_

_"Claire then?"_

_"Absolutely not."_

_Rebecca sat down on the edge of the sofa, picking at a loose thread hanging from her sweater sleeve. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"_

_Jill looked away, blue eyes brimming with unshed tears._

* * *

><p>"Alright...quick pinch," Rebecca murmured quietly as the needle pierced Jill's skin.<p>

Jill never even flinched, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was due to the flurry of thoughts that seemed to be bothering her friend, or if she was so used to being pricked and prodded that it simply no longer bothered her.

"Is this going to help?"

Jill's voice startled Rebecca from her own morbidity.

"Of course it's going to help, but this is more about you than anything. We're in uncharted waters here."

"Aren't we always?"

"With you, it does seem that way."

"Can't seem to keep myself out of trouble."

These check ups weren't uncommon, and Rebecca had found that Jill tended to deflect the seriousness of the situation with humor. At first, she had been unnerved, but had quickly become grateful for it. Normalcy was hard enough considering the things they had seen; there was no need to dwell on the severity of it every second of the day.

Jill watched as Rebecca labeled and set the vials of blood in their trays. It was hard to fathom that she could be the answer to a cure. Some would call it a blessing in disguise; Jill wavered toward curse.

"Has there been progress?"

"Actually, there has been. Leon's flying Sherry Birkin out in a few days and she's going to let us take an updated sample from her."

"Sherry Birkin? Really?"

"She got in contact with me and said she would be in the area. Leon made her promise she would finish school before she made the decision to get involved in what we do."

"And I take it school didn't talk her out of it?"

Rebecca shook her head, to which Jill sighed in response. Each year since the founding of the BSAA, it seemed the recruits got younger and younger, but Jill could only see Sherry as the quiet adolescent Claire and Leon had pulled from the wreckage of Raccoon City. An orphan, thrown into a family of soldiers fighting against a war without end.

And now she wanted to join them.

"I imagine Claire isn't pleased with this turn of events."

"He didn't say." Rebecca began shifting through x-rays and other files strewn about her desk.

"That means he hasn't told her." She was familiar with the duck-and-run tactic against the Redfield siblings.

Rebecca laughed, nodding in agreement. "Probably not, but she's an adult. I was barely eighteen when I joined S.T.A.R.S. and I was fully capable of making that decision," Rebecca glanced up, watching as Jill started to speak. "Don't. Not a word. You made the same choice I did, pal."

Jill pursed her lips, biting back the quip.

_Buzz. Buzz._

Rebecca leaned forward to check the screen before swiping away the caller for the third time. Jill frowned.

"You don't have to ignore that because of me."

"I'm not ignoring it because of you."

Jill was quiet, contemplating for a moment. "Your old friend, huh?"

Rebecca's face remained unchanged, focused solely on updating the information on Jill's charts.

"How long is he in town for?"

"Shit," Rebecca swore as the question caused her to jerk her pen the wrong direction, and suddenly her 'V' became a backwards 'N'.

"I knew it."

"He's not in town...anymore."

"So that's where you disappeared to that night."

She blushed furiously. "We are here on account of you, not me."

"I spend a lot of time talking about myself, Rebecca. It'd be nice to watch someone else's soap opera unfold for once."

Rebecca sighed heavily. "He had some information...he always has information. I told him after you - I told him I no longer wanted to know of the knowledge he found himself privy to and I moved away. Of course it only took him all of two months to find out where I had moved to, but he left me alone...for the most part," she paused, steadying herself. "Then he heard about you, and he knew I had come back here. I knew he would have information and I guess with everything going on, I just needed to see him and it was an easy excuse."

"Becca..." Jill leaned forward, careful to avoid the IV drip attached to her dominant arm.

"No, no...I'm fine. He was in town for two days and then he left. That's that. It's how it always has been."

"What information did he have?"

"The same intel Leon handed over to Claire."

Jill remained quiet. Chris had spoken reluctantly of the whisperings of a new virus, and as much as she tried to push the thought from her mind, it continued to fester there; waiting to break what little security she had started to feel again.

"It had to be -"

"Ada Wong," Jill finished. "I know. It's just kind of an unspoken thing that we don't force the issue with Leon."

"She seems to have a way with these things," Rebecca shut the incubator door on Jill's samples and shook her head. "That was uncalled for - I don't even know her. This is all so trivial."

"Hey!" Jill clamped her free hand over Rebecca's shoulder, turning the girl to face her. "We're only human; these things aren't always so trivial."

"It's always going to be like this with him. I need to accept that. I thought I already had, but..." she trailed off as her phone buzzed again, this time from another doctor. Crying in front of Jill wasn't an option. Not today. "I'll have your results in twenty-four hours."

Jill nodded, deciding to let it go for the moment as Rebecca took the call. She was unsure of what advice to offer her friend; it was true that Billy was a fugitive and logic should have dismissed any notions of a happy ending, but logic never seemed to be a key factor in matters of the heart.

Rebecca ended the phone call and began removing the IV from her arm and electrodes attached to various monitors from Jill's chest without a word, and she was suddenly reminded of what she was doing in Rebecca's office in the first place. A quiet wave of nausea hit her.

"The results...are they definite?"

Color swam back into Rebecca's face, eager to think of anything but Billy Coen.

"Based on comparisons from the first samples extracted from you all the way to now...they're almost definite. Some things are nearly impossible to predict, especially when you're dealing with someone else's work, but I think we have an almost if not perfect understanding of the viruses inner-workings," Rebecca stopped, noticing the pale pallor of Jill's face. "It's going to be okay, Jill."

"It's just strange. Tomorrow you could tell me a thousand things that will permanently be wrong with me."

"If you're worried about infection...or the spread of infection..."

"That's what I was meant for, wasn't it? To spread the infection via a new race...by breeding his creation." Her voice was meek.

Rebecca locked eyes with Jill's, remembering that day over five years ago.

_"You're not going to tell him, are you?"_

"You've been cleared from the P30."

"I know, but you told me these things have a chance to lie dormant and then just reappear at any time. Just like with the T-Virus."

"And we took care of that."

"But this?"

"This will have the same result."

_It would be just like him to get the final blow._

"You know that for sure?"

"Tomorrow."

But Jill could hear his laughter for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I know it's been a long wait, and I appreciate anyone who is still sticking with me! I recently saw this story get mentioned on Tumblr, and it gave me a renewed drive to finish it, so thank you for that! The next chapter will be the last with an epilogue following. Please review.<strong>


	24. This is All Now

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: This is All Now**

_Knock. Knock._

"Come in!"

Jill glanced up from her computer screen as Claire entered her office balancing a drink tray and a box of donuts with a bag of bagels hanging from her mouth.

"What is...?"

"I just thought I'd stop by and bring you guys breakfast," Claire pulled a cup of coffee from the drink tray and placed the bag on Jill's desk. "Chris eats like a horse, but I know you prefer bagels, so..."

Jill arched an eyebrow as she sipped from the coffee, which she desperately needed. "He told you," she said simply, swallowing down the hot liquid.

"Told me what?"

Jill cocked her head to the side as one hand fell to her hip, her eyes narrowing at Claire's feigned ignorance.

"He told me."

Jill sat down to log onto her computer and began rifling through papers. Claire took the seat opposite her desk, simultaneously biting into a donut and checking e-mails from her cell phone. She knew Jill expected her to leave without pressing the subject, but Chris had been brief, and she wanted to make a point - for whatever it was worth - to offer her support.

"I'm okay."

Claire nodded, swallowing the donut. "Chris told me that, too."

Jill stopped shuffling, nodded, and began drumming her fingers against the desk to distract from the apparent silence falling over the office. Outside the door, footsteps and phone calls echoed throughout the building; a reminder of the work Jill should have been doing.

"Claire, you don't have to -"

"I know I don't, and I know you're going through something none of us can ever understand, but we're family, Jill. Remember that."

They locked eyes, and Claire noticed for the first time how exhausted Jill really looked; her pale complexion and blonde hair did nothing but accentuate the black circling her eyes. She was thinking of the many times she had examined her own face in the mirror after staring down death, when there was a heavy rap at the door.

"Quint told me he saw you come in here with food."

She looked at her brother carefully, noticing how well he hid his exhaustion. His worry, however, was another story. "You don't need any of this. You're the size of a truck as it is."

"I'm a growing boy."

"Yeah, you get any bigger and you won't be fitting through these doorways," she mumbled, patting him on the back as she simultaneously grabbed her things and ducked out of reach of his free arm. "Some of us have bad guy catching to do!"

"That makes two of us!" Jill called after her, eyeing Chris as he tore open the box of donuts. "You get crumbs anywhere in this office, and I'll have your ass."

He bit into a donut, wiggling his eyebrows as he did so. "You know I love it when you talk dirty."

"Out!" She stood up, pointing at her open door.

He snatched the box from her desk and stood, leaning forward and kissing her before she could react. His good intentions tasted of chocolate and distraction.

But it wasn't enough to ease her worried mind.

* * *

><p>"Hey!"<p>

Chris stopped short, swallowing the bite of donut left in his mouth and spinning on his heel to see Claire standing a few feet from the elevator. "I thought you had to get to work."

"I do," Claire shifted her bag to her opposite shoulder. "I just wanted to check on you first."

"I'm the same as I was this morning. Talk to me in a couple of hours and I'll let you know if things are different."

"That tough guy act may work with everyone else around here, but I've seen you in footie pajamas with a cape attached, big brother; I'm not as easy to fool."

"Don't say that too loudly. You'll ruin my reputation." Chris chuckled, placing his hand over Claire's head and ruffling the hair there. His intent was to infuriate her, but Claire could feel the melancholy creeping up, even as his hand left her head.

_If this was all for nothing..._

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

"She'll be fine," Chris looked back in the direction of Jill's office, before staring down at his boots. Jill wasn't kidding, they really were filthy from training exercises. "She has to be."

Claire eyed him carefully, picking out the cracks in his armor. "Have you spoken with Leon about this new intel?"

"I knew you were going to ask about that."

"Well?"

"You know the answer to that, Claire."

"It's too soon."

"That's just how this works." He shrugged, trying to remain indifferent. If he thought about how unfair it all was, he was going to hit something or someone. Hard.

"What are we going to do?"

"What we always do - stop it. You're going to intercept data and feed it to the BSAA and remind your boyfriend that his team isn't equipped to handle this kind of shit without us."

"Leon's not - he's..." she shook her head, ignoring the comment. He was deflecting the conversation to her, and she refused to play his game. "What about you?"

"_I_ am going to go make these new recruits get used to wishing they were dead."

Claire cocked her head to the side, determinedly. "And Jill?"

He could see so much of their mother in her. "None of this even works without her."

She nodded, satisfied with his answer. "I'll call you later."

"I'll be busy!" He yelled after her as she jogged to catch a leaving elevator.

"No you won't!" The closing doors muffled her reply.

He walked away feeling heavier.

* * *

><p>"I've forwarded the rest of the information to your inbox."<p>

"Thanks, Hunnigan."

"Are you going to read it?"

Leon laughed quietly, checking his mirrors as he merged with traffic. "I know you're tapping your foot and glaring at some inanimate object pretending it's me, but you're way less intimidating over the phone."

"You're sweet, Kennedy."

"I try," he smiled, despite her tone. "I'm a little preoccupied at the moment, but once I get a free second, I will read every bit of the intel until I've got it memorized."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I wouldn't expect anything different. Enjoy your weekend, Hunnigan."

"Stay out of trouble."

"That's the plan!"

He ended the call, dropping the phone to his passenger's seat as he followed the signs to the terminal Sherry had told him during their last phone call. He was taking her down to see Claire, who had been unable to see her for almost six months due to the Kijuju incident and everything that had followed. Sherry wanted to tell Claire herself and in person about her decision to accept the offer from Simmons to work for the agency.

He caught a glimpse of blonde hair as he maneuvered toward the curb and beeped his horn slightly to catch her attention. Her face lit up as she picked up her luggage and jogged toward his car, slinging her bags in the backseat and simultaneously hopping into the front. She placed a quick kiss on his cheek as he drove away.

"You didn't even give me a chance to get your bags for you."

"That's okay, old man. Wouldn't want you pulling your back out or anything."

"_Ha ha_. Are you hungry?"

"No. I thought maybe we could all go to dinner tonight?"

"So you want to tell Claire you're joining a government agency and putting your life in danger in public?"

Sherry grinned. "More witnesses?"

"Good thinking."

"How is she?"

Leon drummed his fingers against the wheel, watching for a break in traffic to pass the car in front of him. "She's doing okay. She just worries."

Sherry frowned. "About Chris?"

"About Chris, about you, about me, about anything else she can worry about."

"Same old Claire."

Leon smiled, nodding in agreement. He let a few moments of comfortable silence pass before initiating a conversation he felt obligated to have with her, again.

"You don't have to join that agency."

"I know I don't."

"You could do something else entirely, Sherry. You can -"

"Please do not finish that with _leave this behind you_ or _forget all about Raccoon City_. I've spent the last ten years accepting that I am a Birkin and learning that I don't have to make amends for that, but I can't just forget what happened. I don't _want_ to forget what happened - I _want_ to do something about it."

He sighed. "Alright, I won't say another word."

"Good," Sherry paused. "Was that convincing enough for Claire or should I get a little more emotional?"

"Definitely get a little more emotional."

"Got it."

* * *

><p>"Your blood is still free of any traces of P30. I've run every analysis possible." Rebecca rushed the words out before Jill even had a chance to sit down.<p>

"Nothing at all?" She sank into the chair, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"Nothing. Nothing waiting to wake up and turn you into a killing machine," she paused, watching Jill's face for signs of relief. "Nothing waiting to wake up and turn you into something else."

"What else?" Jill's face remained stoic, eyes piercing Rebecca for any sign of doom and gloom.

"Your vitals are good. You're still a little underweight, but you've made a remarkable improvement over the last couple of weeks. Your heart rate and blood pressure have stabilized, and your cell count is back to normal," she glanced down at her sheet, going over the list of symptoms Jill had described during their earlier visits. "Your skin is probably going to be a little more sensitive than it used to be, so just use extra precaution when you're in the sun. I'm not sure how long this is going to last for, but we may be able to pursue some reparative therapy if you want. Your hair may darken some, but I don't think it's ever going to return to it's natural color. Honestly, I know you don't want to hear this, but you're in impeccable physical condition. P30 aside, Wesker -"

"Stop." Jill froze at his name and focused mostly on inhaling and exhaling. He could hear her heartbeat echoing around the words, like thunder waiting for lightning to strike.

"Jill," Rebecca grabbed her friend's hand, squeezing it. "You're gonna be okay."

"You don't understand. I can _feel_ it inside of me, waiting to take me over again. I wake up clawing at my chest because it's burning," her voice was shaky. "You have to run them again."

Rebecca squeezed Jill's hand tighter, ignoring the cold sweat against her palm. "Jill, you're a fighter, you always have been. The antibodies that your body has developed as a defense are protecting you from anything like that happening."

"No -"

"Yes!" Rebecca cut her off, scooting her chair forward and grabbing Jill's shoulders firmly. "You are cured, and it's a wonderful thing, because it's going to help save a lot of people as soon as I figure out how in the hell it all works."

Jill remained silent, choking back panicked sobs that were threatening to tear apart the threads of composure she clung to.

"It's in your head," Rebecca's voice was was less firm than it had been seconds before. "It's in all of our heads, Jill. Do you know how many times I've caught a cold and wondered if it's some latent effect from exposure to the virus? Do you know how many people I've tested just because they've got a rash or some sort of ailment they think equals the first stage of infection?"

Jill took a deep breath, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. She wanted to feel relief, but all she felt was nausea.

"Do you want me to call Chris?"

She shook her head. "I'll find him later."

"This is good, Jill. Really good."

They both stood, with Jill reaching to give Rebecca a hug. She backed away as she felt the tears well up again.

"Thank you for everything, Becs."

"You can treat me to lunch next week?"

"Count on it."

"Find Chris, I mean it. This will be good for him, too."

Jill nodded, thinking of all the things she still did not know about her partner's grief. She pulled out her cell phone as she headed back up to the main building, selecting Dr. Pearce's name from her contacts list.

* * *

><p>If there was anything that reminded Chris he was only getting older, it was the influx of young recruits being filtered into the BSAA. He was in peak physical condition and was notorious for being the toughest when it came to running drill circuits and scrimmages - hell, he could outlast the endurance of men half his age - but as soon as the day was done, exhausted became an understatement.<p>

"You wanna grab a few beers with us, Captain?"

Chris glanced up from hosing the mud from his boots and shook his head. "Nah, not tonight. You guys have fun."

The recruit smiled and rushed off to catch up with the rest of the pack heading into the locker rooms, and Chris was reminded briefly of Joseph Frost.

_"You want to grab a beer with us after work, Captain Wesker?"_

_Wesker never spoke, only silently motioned to the paperwork on his desk._

_"Work day never ends for him, huh?" Joseph muttered to Chris, grabbing his jacket and car keys as they rushed to catch up with the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. members. "Probably has a hot date or somethin'."_

_Chris shook his head as Joseph laughed at his own joke._

He stomped his feet a few times, shaking off the excess dirt and water, before trudging inside to head straight to Jill's office. He checked his phone again as he waited on the elevator, but found nothing but a few missed texts from Claire asking if Jill had spoken to Rebecca yet. He frowned. The lack of contact from Jill could mean anything, and for the last decade his mind tended to veer toward the worst possible outcome.

The elevator doors opened and he walked briskly down the corridor, cutting the corner quickly as Jill's office came into view. He knocked twice, reaching to turn the handle almost immediately only to find it locked. He stepped back, staring at the door dumbfounded. The blinds were only shut halfway, and he stooped down, peering through the cracks to catch a glimpse inside. It was mostly dark on the inside, and looked to be vacant.

"She left for the day."

Chris turned on his heel at the voice, startled.

"Didn't mean to scare you, man."

"Parker? When the hell did you get back?"

"This morning. I'm in for a few weeks before I get new orders to head back overseas. I came to see Jill but the secretary out front says she left for the day. Calling it early since it's Friday?"

Chris sighed. "Something like that."

"It seems like you get bigger every time I see you. Quit trying to show off, huh?"

"You sound like my sister."

"That's a little creepy, Redfield," Parker laughed. "Anyway, I'd like to see her. I haven't since...well, you know. How's she doing?"

"I know," Chris nodded. "She's doing alright. A lot of adjusting to do, but she's holding it together better than I could."

_'Or at least she was a few hours ago. How long has she been gone?'_

"She's tough, that one."

"That she is."

"Well, I'm headed out. I'll see you around next week. I have to get myself acquainted with the fresh meat you guys have been rounding up for the squads."

Chris waved, waiting for Parker to round the corner before he dug his cell phone out to call Jill.

Straight to voicemail.

"Fuck."

* * *

><p>Jill startled the front door of the apartment swung open. She gasped, steadying the plates in her hand and leaning her body against the counter to catch her breath. Chris's form quickly came into view; jaw set and eyes scowling.<p>

"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you for nearly two hours. I almost called a squad out for you!"

Jill set the plates down, cocking her head to the side. "You considered me a missing person without checking our own home?"

"What was I supposed to think, Jill? The secretary had no idea where you were and Rebecca said she hadn't seen you since she gave you your test results."

"Did she tell you?"

"Your results?" Chris folded his arms tightly against his chest, but she could tell from his voice he was losing his resolve to be angry. "No, she refused to tell me because you're technically considered her patient, which pissed me off more."

"Those confidentiality laws will really be the downfall of this country," she resumed setting plates on the dining room table, watching him shake his head at her sarcasm. "I was with Dr. Pearce. I shut my phone off because I didn't want to be bothered while I was there, I just forgot to turn it back on once I got home. Are you okay with pasta tonight?"

"Jill..." He sat down at the table, clasping her hand in his as she turned to leave the table. "Whatever it is Rebecca found, we can deal with it. I don't -"

"She didn't find anything. I'm fine."

"What?"

"I'm fantastic, actually. Apparently a year spent in cryo does wonders for the body. You should try it sometime."

He caught her arm, this time more firmly. "Hey! What's wrong with you?"

She turned back to yell at him, to scream that nothing was wrong with her and that was the entire point, but all that left her throat was a strangled sob. She felt her knees weaken, and his strong arms encircled her, pulling her on to his lap and holding her to him tightly as she shook.

"If there's nothing wrong with me, then there's no reason for me to feel the way I do, Chris. I'm still out of my goddamn mind."

He held her face with one hand, forcing her to look at him. "What did Dr. Pearce say?"

"That my reaction is perfectly normal. She told me I was trying to blame a residual psychological problem on the possibility that I was still somehow under the control of the P30, and now that I know it's not possible...I'm just accepting the guilt and the fears and everything else as something that I've manifested myself - something there's no root cause for...that can be fixed," she sighed. "It fucking sucks."

He tried and failed to hide a smile as he brushed the hair out of her bleary eyes. "It fucking sucks, but you're the toughest person I know, Valentine. You can't just erase all that in a few weeks."

"I just feel wrong," she sighed. "Like I came back wrong."

"Rebecca said -"

"Rebecca said I basically have Wesker to thank for being turned into a perfect weapon - a weapon for Wesker to end the world and a weapon for the BSAA to try and eradicate everything he worked to build," she sank back against him, closing her eyes and exhaling. "Talk about two sides of the same coin, huh?"

Chris kissed the crown of her head. "You're just Jill Valentine to me. That good enough for you?"

Time would tell.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This chapter has literally been re-written completely four different times, and then re-worked another time after that. I hope that explains the ridiculous delay for this update. It's very nerve-wracking to reach the end of a story and feel like there is no satisfying way to offer any form of closure. I still don't feel like this ending is up to par, but I kept coming back to a different version of this final scene and decided it had to be done this way. I didn't want to tie everything up and send it off into the sunset with Chris and Jill sharing this epic romantic love scene (as much as I so badly wanted to) because that - to me - is a disservice to their relationship as this story portrays them. At the end of the day, the characters and their story is never finished. I still plan to completely finish this out with an epilogue that will be jumping a few years into the future, but I hope what I've written here has done the story justice and does not disappoint. Again, thank you so much for your continued support and please review.<strong>


	25. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: All characters, references, and likenesses to Resident Evil belong to Capcom and have been used without permission.**

**Chapter 25: Epilogue**

_December 7th, 2012_

"This is my least favorite part of this fuckin' job."

Jill arched an eyebrow. "Out of all the things fighting bio-terrorism entails, this is what you complain about?"

"I can't kick as much ass when I'm in a tux. It's not practical."

"James Bond does."

Chris scoffed as he put the car in park, reaching around the passenger's seat to grab the umbrella Jill had remembered to bring. The sky had been threatening rain for a majority of the day and finally followed through halfway into their drive. The BSAA elected to participate in a formal event to get all employees together before the holidays with the idea in mind to celebrate the success and growth of the organization and its affiliates - it was also good politics and even better PR.

He shoved his door open, fumbling to open the umbrella against the rain, and jogged around to let Jill out. Together, they ducked beneath the umbrella, Chris's arm around Jill's shoulder as they navigated through the parking lot and into the lobby.

"There's complimentary valet tonight, sir."

Chris glanced up to see a few new recruits he didn't recognize, all standing at attention. He never got used to what being part of the original eleven entailed. He brushed them off, letting them know to stand down. "I can handle parking my own car."

Jill elbowed him softly in the ribs. He frowned.

"At least let us check your coats?"

Chris nodded, handing off his and Jill's overcoats.

"You guys don't work too hard, okay? Try and enjoy the party. It's more fun than it looks!"

The recruit blushed, smiling as he handed over the coat check. "Thanks, ma'am."

"You just made his night." Chris whispered, gesturing toward the stairs.

"How so?"

"The famous and beautiful Jill Valentine shows concern for the well-being of a rookie? He'll be bragging about that for days."

"What can I say?"

Chris chuckled, grabbing her hand gently as they reached the top of the stairs. "Have I told you how amazing you look tonight, Miss Valentine?"

"You told me before we left," she paused, tilting her head up and struggling even in heels to meet his height. "But I'll let you tell me again."

He bowed his head a little, catching her lips and drawing her closer to his body. When his hands began to roam, she stepped back, shaking her head at him.

"Better get yourself under control, Captain. We have a party to attend." Her voice was low, teasing. He knew that tone well.

"Remember the RPD Christmas party of '97?" He could play that game, too.

He caught her wink as she sauntered away.

* * *

><p>The night wore on without a hitch as Chris and Jill both made the expected rounds and conversed with higher ups who had flown in to attend the event. Two hours in, and Chris had planted himself in a corner to nurse a drink from the bar, watching as Jill was engaged in conversation with Rebecca and a few of the newer recruits.<p>

"You can see that rock from a mile away, big brother. Nicely done."

Chris choked, startled by Claire's sudden appearance. He glanced to Jill's left hand, which held a glass of wine; the engagement ring glittering from the ballroom's overhead lights.

"I didn't see you come in."

"I was a little late."

"Lucky you."

Claire snickered at his disdain. "I see Jill dressed you today."

"Jill handles the undressing, Claire. I look this good on my own."

"I walked right into that one."

"You did," Chris held his glass up, motioning toward the crowd of people. "Where's your plus one?"

"Working. The DSO is practically foaming at the mouth over this situation in Edonia," Claire grew quiet. "When are you leaving?"

"A couple of weeks."

"After Christmas?"

It was her favorite holiday. He met her eyes, watching as her hope faded with the shake of his head. It was the same look Jill bore lately when silence fell between them.

"Well, that sucks."

He sighed, placing his arm around her as they both watched the crowd. Chris's attention fell back to Jill, whose eyes were bright with laughter as Rebecca spoke - no doubt reminiscing, probably at his expense. The dress she wore clung to her in the right places, accentuating her frame instead of hiding it as she had done for so long after her return. She had left her hair down - a gesture most likely done for him - and the effect it had on his brain and body was quickly becoming far from innocent.

"She looks great." Claire's voice was quiet, as if she feared Jill would overhear.

"She does. She _is_ great," Chris paused to finish the rest of his drink. "I was worried when it became clear the BSAA would be deploying to Edonia that everything would fall apart, but she's been okay so far. Hell, she's taking it better than I am."

"Must be the ring."

"Must be."

He glanced up just in time to see Jill watching him. He smiled warmly and she winked at him, eyes lingering a little longer before engrossing herself back in the conversation. He felt the familiar buzz in his ears and a warmth spreading through him that he had vowed never to take for granted again. The party was quickly becoming even less appealing.

"If I don't come back -"

It was Claire's turn to down the last of her drink. "Chris, no. I'm not even going to acknowledge that as an option."

He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "I'm not trying to be morbid. I don't want to think of that any more than you do, but it's a possibility - you and I both know it," he paused, "I just want to know that you'll both be okay."

Claire sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand and trying to block out the thoughts tumbling through her mind. She wasn't stupid; she knew the risks they all took each and every day, but she hated conversations like this. No amount of words could ever prepare her for losing someone so close to her, so she merely nodded in the hopes that he would drop the conversation.

"I love you."

"Don't get soppy on me," she grumbled, allowing him to pull her into a one-armed hug. "...I love you, too."

He laughed, fighting the urge to ruffle her hair, which she had clearly put effort into. "Shall we get another round?"

"Is that a serious question?"

He signaled for the bartender.

* * *

><p>"Are you doing okay?" Rebecca's concern was genuine, and Jill silently thanked her for lasting longer than a few minutes before asking about her well-being.<p>

"Some days I forget. Some days it's all I can think about," It was vague, but it was the truth. "We've known this was coming for a while."

Rebecca hummed in agreement, eyes surveying the room for more familiar faces. "How does it feel not being in the thick of it?"

"It's very strange," she answered. Truthfully, she missed being in the field sometimes. It had been her life for over a decade; it was what she knew. "Not working with Chris side by side has taken a lot of adjusting."

"I'll bet. Even in STARS you guys were like...the dream team."

They shared a laugh, but modesty aside, it was the truth. Working with Chris was effortless; he knew exactly what she was thinking, when she was thinking it - a trait that had carried over from their work relationship to their personal relationship. Their synchronicity had helped save more than just their own asses, and had also been a deciding factor in the BSAA choosing to ignore their relationship in the early days of formation. Now, Chris was heading his own unit and she only worked directly with him on recon missions that required her presence for strategic matters, and even then, she remained mostly out of the action.

"He's got a good team. He spent a lot of time combing through agents. They all respect him, especially Nivans," Jill sighed. "He's in good hands."

"But?" There was always a but.

"...but he's always in better hands at home," her gaze drifted to him, absorbed in conversation with his sister. He happened to glance up, catching her stare and giving her that smile that made her feel 23 again, sneaking looks over paperwork and weapon cleaning. She winked for good measure, turning away before he broke her concentration more. "Are your parents coming up for the holidays this year?"

"They're flying up a few days before to visit and then leaving to spend Christmas and New Year's in New York," Rebecca laughed at Jill's arched eyebrow. "Finally taking the second honeymoon they've been talking about since I was 16."

"So you'll be binge-eating Chinese food and marathoning Christmas movies with Claire and me?"

"I've got wine and spare chopsticks at the ready," she thought to the unanswered e-mail in her inbox from Billy. "I need another drink. Do you want one?"

"Yes..." Jill trailed off as Rebecca hurried to the bar, her eyes again on Chris. She frowned as she saw him place his hands on Claire's shoulders, his sister shaking her head almost vehemently. She twisted the ring on her finger out of nervous habit, knowing full well the nature of the conversation taking place.

Suddenly, her heart was heavy and her need to be near him was too much to bear.

* * *

><p>"Hey there, where did you get off to?"<p>

Jill turned away from watching the rain at the window and fell into his embrace willingly. "Weiss felt the need to detail his holiday plans to Rebecca and me, and then Dr. Evers walked up and he and Rebecca got into this huge discussion about a new method for sample analysis particularly useful in viral strains."

"Sounds thrilling." Chris chuckled, pressing his lips to her forehead and then to the bridge of her nose before settling on her lips. Before he could pull away, Jill deepened the kiss, savoring the faint taste of alcohol and familiarity. He sighed contentedly into the renewed vigor, hands roaming against her curves.

They broke apart for air, and Jill placed a hand on his cheek. "You look good, soldier."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He dipped his head low, lips grazing her jawline and gently brushing by her ear. "Good enough to take you home?"

His tone was low, suggestive. She thought of when their time apart meant hushed whispers over disposable phones that spoke of wants and needs; things that caused heat to pool in just the right areas. The rain was suddenly the last thing on her mind.

"That depends." She murmured into the base of his neck.

"On what?"

"What you plan on taking me home for, Captain." Teasing guised behind an innocence she portrayed so well.

One of the things she loved most about Chris was his ability to give as good as he got in all aspects of their relationship.

"To fuck you senseless, Miss Valentine."

"Coats. Car. _Now_."

He didn't argue.

* * *

><p>Jill had always been a firecracker in bed; Chris had known this from their first time together. He remembered a tangled mess of limbs and flesh, bitemarks and bruises that had hummed on the skin and refused to fade for days. After the fall, things had changed; there had been desperation overshadowed by the tiptoeing and nervousness that recovery required for both of them until slowly but surely, the boundaries put in place began to crack until they crumbled altogether - again, in a tangled mess of limbs and flesh where the bitemarks and bruises were more intense than usual.<p>

Sometimes she needed to be reminded she could feel, that she was alive and so was he and that they were together in their home, not a white cell in Kijuju.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Chris started to realize it on the drive home where she had remained mostly silent, left hand lazily tracing figure eights along the inside of his arm until it traveled down to his inner thigh and finally rested against his groin. His suspicions were confirmed when he followed her into their bedroom, watching with darkened eyes as she removed her earrings, her heels, and then deftly unzipped her dress, stepping out of it and leaping onto him in one movement. He had stumbled, hands resting beneath her ass and lifting her up until she was against the wall, fumbling at his belt and shirt and blazer all at the same time. Her kisses were forceful, more intoxicating than usual as her tongue explored his mouth, teeth raking hard against his bottom lip when they pulled apart for air. He locked an arm beneath her for support, sliding his free hand between her legs and roughly pulling her panties aside to slip his fingers in. His thumb circled her as he pumped in and out, heart pounding when she grabbed his wrist to guide him to the pace she wanted. When she was close, nails raking and moans louder, he pulled his hand away suddenly, forcing back a satisfied grin when Jill let out a growl of frustration as he moved her toward the bed, lifting her hips and yanking the panties from around her ankles.

It had taken an even longer time for Jill to feel comfortable with letting Chris have his way with her, opting instead to have her way with him. And then one night it seemed a switch had flipped, and she remembered just how good it was to lose control with him - and tonight was no exception. Her back arched, hips moving of their own accord as his tongue threatened to rob the last of her sanity. He stayed there, between her legs, hands and mouth working together to set her on fire, until she was grasping uselessly at his short hair, begging him to pull him away.

The rain was falling heavier outside, and she could hear it pounding against the windows with each gust of the wind. She felt goosebumps prickling her skin at the phantom feeling of rain and shattered glass, until Chris slid up her body, blanketing her in heat. She pulled at the bottom of his undershirt, forcing him to sit up to help remove the offending item. She watched him stretch the shirt over his head, admiring him unabashedly as her hands roamed against the warmth of his skin. He really was so handsome; he was everything.

The thought of his impending leave seized her, and her hands moved to his belt, working to undo it in order to unfasten his jeans. He began kicking the pants off, body pressed tightly against hers and she could feel how hard he was against her thigh. He wasn't moving fast enough. She freed him from his briefs, hand finding him in the dark, stroking him and guiding him into her before he had the chance to tease her. It would be just like him, and she was no longer in the mood as quickly as need had overwhelmed want.

She let out a deep sigh mixed with a moan, and she felt Chris respond in kind, thrusting forward with vigor. He had always loved when she was vocal, and she made sure to use it to her advantage, purring her appreciation in his ear as he quickened his pace, pinning her arms above her head with one arm, balancing himself and simultaneously pulling her closer with the other.

He was getting close, she could feel it in the way he tensed and loosened his grip, and she seized the opportunity, locking her legs around his waist tightly and gripping his shoulders to roll them so that she was on top. He fell for it every time, whether it was the sparring mat or their bed.

He growled quietly against her mouth as they found their rhythm, hands finding her breasts before settling on the curve of her hips as she rode him. He leaned forward, teeth grazing a nipple gently before nipping at the swell of her breast and then her collarbone. She hissed, rolling her hips against him harder. His resolve was waning quickly. One hand squeezed her hip, steadying her against him as the other slid down, his thumb finding and circling her to elicit another breathy moan.

"_Chris_..."

And he lost it, hips rising off the bed to drive deeper into her. He forced his eyes open, watching as her head fell back, mouth open and chest heaving as she squeezed and pulsed around him. She was so fucking beautiful.

Jill collapsed against him, smiling into his neck as his fingers traced invisible patterns over old scars that no longer painted her skin. He never forgot. She pressed a finger to his side, trailing over the fading marks he'd earned at the Spencer Estate so long ago.

"The rain stopped." His voice was like gravel, heavy with exhaustion.

"Mm." She hummed in agreement, lazily rolling off of him and on to her side. He followed suit, wrapping a strong arm around her and pulling her into him. His breath tickled her neck and shoulders as he trailed idle kisses over her skin, and she sighed happily - he had made the thoughts of Edonia and a new virus and the seemingly endless cycle easy to shove aside, at least for the time being.

"Guess what?"

"What?"

He shifted, pressing another kiss to the top of her spine. "We can sleep in tomorrow."

She smiled at the simplicity of it.

"You mean the world isn't ending?"

"Not today."

-_End_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: That's it! Almost two years later and it's finally finished! I hope this ending does justice to the story as a whole. I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this and review (and even those who read and don't review even though I wish you would!), and I want to especially thank everyone who has continuously stuck with this regardless of obnoxious wait times between chapters when I lost my initial footing for the direction of the story. You guys were the complete motivation to actually finish this, and again, I hope you enjoyed the final chapter. I wanted to set the tone for the build up of RE6 without overshadowing the progression of Chris and Jill's relationship here and without bogging it down with details and theories in the between. I wanted this particular chapter and the events it depicts to be appreciated for what it was...and I could ramble for days about this chapter, so if I've left anything unanswered or unclear, feel free to ask and I'll do my best to explain what was going through my head while writing this. As for any new fics, I do have the framework for a post-RE6 one shot in mind that I hope to get up eventually. As always, please review!<strong>


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